The Consanguine Mind
by Pipsy
Summary: Repost. In an AU where Reid never joined the team, a case sends them to Nevada where his mother is a victim. As the team befriends him and the profile comes together, the UnSub and a dark secret is closer than they think. FINISHED! Previously 230 reviews.
1. Murder

Title: **The Consanguine Mind**  
Category: TV Shows » Criminal Minds  
Author: Pipsy  
Language: English, Rating: Rated: T  
Genre: Mystery/Angst  
Published: 10-01-09, Updated: 11-25-09  
Chapters: 10, Words: 52,258

(Yeah, that stuff up there is when this was originally published to , so obviously it's been a while and all the reviews are gone; not to seem narcissistic, but there were something like 230+ reviews before, and I only mention that because that's one thing readers check to see if a story is worth their time, as I'm sure you know! Also, I've removed most of my original author's notes.)

**Disclaimer**- see profile. I do not own "Criminal Minds", its characters, or recognizable storylines used in canon. I also make no profit whatsoever from this story or any other fanfic and no property infringement is intended.

**Categories**- Angst, hurt/comfort, mystery, suspense.

**Author's Note**- Because of my religious beliefs, I'm politically nuetral and this story is in no way meant to condone or promote nationalism and, therefor for the sake of my conscience, in my mind the BAU is not a government agency in this story or any other story. No offense is meant by this and please know I do appreciate the services of the government, police force, and FBI. :)

**Warnings-** mention of none-graphic physical and sexual abuse, mention of physical and sexual mutilation to victims.

**The Consanguine Mind**

**Chapter 1- Murder**

_What would life be like  
__But for one small change?  
__Someone born a moment later,  
__Someone dies another day?  
__Would it seize all your happiness,  
__Or swallow all your pain?..._

"The grave was discovered by a camper early Wednesday morning. Local authorities were notified." Hotch began to brief his team, handing out folders with what little information they had. "It wasn't until one of the CSIs searching the grounds found another grave that they began a wide-scale excavation of the area. The search revealed eight more graves, with thirteen more bodies. Total count of sixteen."

Morgan flipped open the folder, examining the photos of the corpses. "Any timeline on who was the first?" he asked.

Hotch shook his head. "The corner's still doing autopsies to determine the cause of death. Initial exams revealed most the men were mutilated with a knife or some other sharp object. Their hands were severed at the wrists and they were castrated, indicating our UnSub is a sexual sadist and most likely impotent. He's either seeking arousal by the mutilation or wrestling with a sexual crisis; homosexuality or abuse." he went on.

"Some of these remains are pretty decomposed." Prentiss noted.

J.J. nodded, examining the photos herself. "But these two aren't in that bad of a shape. They must have been the last." She turned to Hotch. "Has there been any ID on the victims yet?"

"Conformation's still coming through," he told her, "but these two are believed to be Amy and Steve Duresky, missing since the twenty-second of February."

Gideon, whose brow was crinkled in deep concentration, held up a vacation picture of the couple. They were standing on a beach with lazy smiles on their faces, wearing luau necklaces and holding tropical drinks. A boy and girl stood between them, both grinning.

"What about the children?" he asked, a note of concern in his voice.

"Jared and Kaley Duresky were at school when their parents disappeared. When they didn't come home that night, Kaley called their aunt and uncle. They've been staying with Julia and Thomas Saow ever since." Hotch answered. "The CPD is expecting us in Georgetown at eight, and the jet's warming. I hope you packed for warm weather. " he declared by way of dismissal.

Automatically, the team members stood, gathering the folders and hastily exiting to make their way to the landing pad.

Even with his dark glasses on, Morgan was squinting as he stepped from the jet into the daylight. The sheriff, as well as two deputies, were waiting outside the police headquarters. Following the rest of his team, he listened as introductions were made and then as Sheriff Hope began discussing the case, leading them inside.

The murders had shaken up more than a few of the locals and concern as to who the next target might be, as well as fear and suspicion in general, had his department being flooded with calls. There were also dozens of frantic families trying to find out if one their missing relatives might be a victim.

"We're rushing the coroner for results, but we haven't had a major serial killing in a decade, so we're a little out practice." Hope explained. "We're working on IDing the bodies as fast possible so we can inform their families."

Gideon nodded. "Knowing who they were will help us to determine why they were chosen."

"Since the murders are already public, I'd like to go on air and make a statement to calm down the people and to assure them that we're taking this investigation seriously." J.J. added as they wove through the crowded station. Indeed, dozens of people were flooding the room, panicked and hysterical- each one thinking they'd seen or heard something or sure that their sister or son was one of the victims.

The sheriff nodded. "I think that's a good idea." He opened a door to an office and showed them in. "If there's _anything_ you need, tell me or one of my deputies, and we'll be sure to get it." he promised.

Hotch thanked him and then the sheriff left. They began setting up immediately, tacking up the photos of the victims and crime scene and the reports in the files. Gideon began giving instructions- J.J. was to talk to the press as soon as possible, Garcia would search for any similar murders in the country, as well as supply them with a list of violent felons living in the area, and Hotch and Prentiss would deal with some of the traffic in the office to see if any of the people there had something credible. Gideon and Morgan were to go to the crime scene to examine it themselves.

...

"The victims are almost equally proportioned male to female." Morgan noted, flipping through the coroner's reports in the car while Gideon drove. "Seven men, nine women, all middle-aged, and over half are paired off."

Gideon nodded. "Couples." he agreed. "Martha and Evan Gail and Susan and Howard Plathard were both middle-class citizens with off-and-on jobs and children under the age of seventeen."

"He seems to treat the women differently." Morgan noted. "Whatever killed them isn't obvious."

Gideon shook his head. "But not all of them. Some of them are mutilated like the men, and some of the men don't have a mark on them." he corrected.

Intrigued, Morgan looked up to the old profiler, baffled. "Why the inconsistency? Most UnSubs stick to killing their victims in a certain way; they don't break pattern."

It was true- and it would definitely tell them something very important about their UnSub- but Gideon didn't know the answer to that yet. "The act of taking women and mutilating their genitals as well makes it less likely that the killings were for sexual release- he wouldn't do it to both of them if that was the case. But, on the other hand, if it was because he was abused at some point- why only some of them?" he mused aloud, driving pensively down the road. They left the pavement and entered onto dirt.

"It doesn't add up." Morgan agreed.

"To our UnSub it does." Gideon stated. "We just have to figure out how."

The crime scene was in the middle of a forest, one of the reasons the bodies had gone undiscovered for so long. By now, the area was trampled from feet and torn up by the unearthed graves, police tape cordoning off the area, although most of its former attention was gone. There were still half a dozen CSIs working and gathering evidence, but the hundreds of people that had swarmed the graves had dispersed throughout the days.

All the better for Gideon and Morgan to look around and get a feel for what the area meant to the UnSub.

"The nearest town is ten miles away. There's a river that runs a half-mile from here, which attracts campers, and a small inn two miles east." Morgan told the senior agent. He'd been studying the geography in the car, getting his bearings as he took in the minute details of the woods and surrounding towns.

"Sure privacy." Gideon stated with soft approval, coming around to one of the now-empty graves. "From the depth, it's clear he never wanted the bodies to be found. Whatever the motive, it wasn't to make a statement or to get attention."

Morgan stared down into the rich soil, never quite feeling easy when he considered the last moments of those that had filled them. He glanced at a photo, then held it up for Gideon to see. It showed a couple lying next to each other in the grave, the woman's arms folded upon her chest.

"Look at the way she's positioned." Morgan said, pointing to the arms. "If he never meant for the bodies to be found, then there's another reason for her arms being crossed like that." he noted.

"It's respect. " Gideon said, circling the oval hole. "By folding the arms, he gives her something back, some dignity in her death." He didn't comment on how twisted the logic was- with a serial killer, logic was always perverse.

Going around the pit, they stopped at another grave. "But he didn't give all his victims that respect. Four of the women had their arms crossed, but only two of the men." he concluded.

"Do you think it's revenge?" Morgan asked.

Gideon sighed, unsure but knowing it was a possibility. And a waste. "Maybe."

Abandoning the graves, his gaze swept over the surrounding land. "The bodies were dumped over a period of time- years. So he must know this area well enough to be able to find it again whenever he needs to, in varying weather conditions. With so many dumps, he's certainly local." he surmised.

"The question is," Morgan went on, "how local? With a small town like Georgetown, everyone knows everyone- it might just make our job easier."

Gideon shook his head. "He comes here often, but I doubt he lives in the immediate area. He's smarter than that."

Morgan wasn't about to ask how Gideon knew that- the older agent had a keen ability to automatically see into the minds of UnSubs. Accepting the suggestion as fact, they moved on.

"So he drops off the bodies, buries them…" Morgan took another look around the forest. "If I was him, camping would be a good cover."

Gideon nodded. "Then we need to find out if there's anyone that comes here frequently to camp."

It still wasn't much, but it was more than they'd had an hour ago.

Morgan's phone rang and he picked it up. It was Hotch. A moment later, he hung up, then turned to Gideon. "They've IDd three more victims. Their families are being informed. Hotch wants us for the interviews." he reported.

Without hesitance, Gideon started out of the crime scene. "Maybe they can give us some insight on what made them so deserving of our UnSub's attention." he said, entering the car.

Morgan followed, slamming the door shut, and dust kicked up from the dirt road as they disappeared under the bows of the tall and mighty trees.


	2. Meeting Reid

**Chapter 2- Meeting Reid**

The police station wasn't quite as full as it had been when they'd left; Hotch and Prentiss had been doing their job. Morgan headed for the detective's room that had been cleared for their use, Gideon behind him.

Spotting them, Hotch approached and regarded Gideon. "Prentiss and I have the Gamolins in Detective Sweeney's office. J.J.'s going to be with you and Morgan in Shaster's office handling Reid." he informed shortly. He waved an arm in the room's direction. "He hasn't been informed yet." he added, referring to the victim's son.

"Alright." Gideon agreed, readying himself for the interview and not looking forward to delivering the news.

With a breath, they continued on, entering the room and meeting J.J. just as they opened the door. Inside, a man was seated at the desk, his back to them. He turned as they entered, and their gazes met bright brown eyes that were underscored by dark circles.

The man was thin and young- in his mid-twenties, but bearing a countenance that made him seem far younger with a mop of light brown hair hanging around his shoulders and his eyes, which Morgan found bizarrely fixating, were tender but darkly intense. He was instantly reminded of a child he'd met once on a case who'd been witness to a murder.

Morgan felt his heart drop slowly as he realized they didn't need to inform the man of anything.

Taking seats, they made themselves comfortable and then Gideon reached across the table to shake hands with the man, Spencer Reid, as they'd been told. "Hello, I'm Supervisory Special Agent Jason Gideon, this is Agent Derek Morgan, and Agent Jennifer Jerraeu." he introduced, Reid taking each of their hands in turn.

"I'm sure you're aware of what's going on here," Gideon went on, "but we've called you in because we have some news about your mother. She was reported missing three years ago, correct?"

Reid swallowed hard. "Yes." he answered.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you, but she's been identified as one of the victims found in Piker Woods." Gideon told the young man, not prolonging the inevitable.

They watched for a reaction as the news was delivered and, although Reid's eyes filled with tears and there was pain evident in his features, there was no shock. Instead, he nodded, dropping his head as he released a heavy breath.

"Do you have any idea…" Reid started then paused, licking his lips as he regathered himself. "Have any idea- when she was killed?"

"The autopsy is still underway," Gideon replied, "but it looks like she died not long after going missing."

Reid nodded again, large tears falling as he fought for control, his head bowed and gaze lowered. "That's good. I mean- not _good_, but just that... she didn't suffer long." he rambled to explain quickly, looking up. "I always worried that she was kept for days, tortured and abused or terrorized in some other way... Do you know what- what happened to her, exactly? What was... done?" he asked, staring at Gideon hopefully- or perhaps fearfully.

"There were no signs of physical or sexual trauma." he assured, guessing his concern as he stared at Reid compassionately. "The cause of death is still being determined, but it was most likely drug-induced."

Taking it in, the young man seemed a bit relieved, but waves of pain continued to roll on tightly knotted shoulders and in bright eyes.

"We know this is a difficult time," J.J. broke in, tone soft and kind, "but it would help us find your mother's killer if you could tell us about her disappearance."

"Yes, of course." Reid answered readily, his voice and frame shaking slightly, but he regarded J.J. and Morgan with resolve and control that was- for the time- firm enough to keep him from breaking down. Behind it, Morgan knew was shock and deep-seeded responsibility. Reality hadn't fully set in on Reid yet but, in the meantime, he had a duty to his mother to fulfill- and he _would_.

Morgan flashed Reid a gentle smile, encouraged by the determination he saw on the younger man's face. "We appreciate it." he assured. Reid offered a tight smile in return, but there was little warmth in it.

Gideon opened a file. "Dr. Reid, you reported your mother missing on April 17'th, 2005, is that right?"

Not noticing Morgan's amazement at the unexpected title, Reid shook his head. "No, the hospital did; I was notified afterwards." he corrected.

"Hospital?" J.J. repeated softly.

"She'd been institutionalized at Bennington Sanitarium for five years prior to her... kidnapping." Reid clarified with minor effort to find the right word. "She was a paranoid schizophrenic, diagnosed in June, 1976 shortly after her first psychotic break. Her condition deteriorated over the years until she couldn't take care of herself and she needed more help than I could give her. When I turned eighteen, I obtained power of attorney over her and... I had her institutionalized." he admitted, lowering his eyes with guilt and pain, his expression contorting.

Pressing onward for Reid's benefit and to keep him from dwelling on something that clearly wasn't his fault as much as for the case, Gideon went on. "Where were you when she went missing?" he asked.

Reid took a deep, shaky breath and drew himself up a little, replying in a somewhat rehearsed fashion that indicated how many interviews he'd done before, but his grief was still evident. "The Norhare Library. I go there on my days off a lot. I was there from about 1:30 to 3:00, then I had lunch at the park. At 3:30 I headed to the office to pick up some patient files- that's when I found out she was missing. They'd been trying to get me on my phone," he recounted with audible regret, "but the battery was dead."

Gideon's gaze shifted downward to look at the file on the table before him, studying its contents momentarily. "Investigators didn't find any sign of foul play, no indication of a struggle. They concluded she was most likely either drugged or led out by coercion. It's a low-security facility, so it wouldn't have been hard to get her out of there without anyone noticing." He read off. When Reid neither objected nor commented but sat with his hands knotted tightly in his lap, Gideon went on. "Dr. Reid, did your mother have any enemies that you're aware of? Anyone that didn't like her?"

Reid shook his head. "No, she was a model patient- although she had her episodes like everyone else- but she was generally well-liked by both the staff and residents. Before she was institutionalized, she rarely left the house and all her relationships had long dissolved and she had no real acquaintances- of either a positive or negative nature." he answered clinically. Morgan wondered briefly if the rapid speech was because he was stressed or if it was simply his nature. "And no," Reid went on, wearily and sorrowfully pre-empting their next question, his voice cracking slightly, "there wasn't anyone that stood out to me that didn't seem to belong or seemed dangerous or odd."

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "You've clearly been through this before. And I'm sorry to be putting you through this again. But sometimes something small can be significant- something she said before she disappeared, a stressed-out orderly or nurse, a recent change in the landscaping, or a visitor you'd never seen before- they can all be pivotal clues about who took your mother. So if there's anything at all you can think of, it's important to tell us. Maybe your mother had some kind of habit or hobby? At this point, we're looking for similarities between the victims." he explained.

"Victimology- the specific traits and commonalities for which they were chosen, in some cases linking to the motive behind a murder." Reid nodded his understanding, then sniffed back tears that silently fell despite his efforts.

His knowledge of criminology was surprising but, while it was of note, none of them were going to press it at the moment. Gideon, staring at Reid contemplatively and with an expression of deep pensiveness that Morgan knew to mean he was profiling the kid, spoke softly, with consideration and sympathy. "We'd just like to go over the events surrounding your mother's abduction, see if there's anything you've forgotten that maybe we can jog."

"I have an eidetic memory." Reid revealed, his face and voice tight and raw, as if it were an affliction- and maybe it was. "Everything about that day and the days preceding it- every detail- is etched into my mind... I couldn't forget if I wanted to."

As he looked at the kid, Morgan didn't doubt that there were days he did want to forget everything, large tears escaping more rampantly from Reid's brown eyes. But a minute later, the young doctor began to collect himself with a visible force of will, scrubbing his face briskly and running a hand through his long, thick hair.

"Whatever you need- whatever I can do to aid the investigation- I'll do it." he complied, irragardless of any opinion he might have about whether or not it would be useful. "Maybe you can find a connection- see something they couldn't." he said, shrugging and looking up at them hopefully- desperately.

Seeing the courage and anguish reflected in Reid's eyes, Morgan felt new resolve pit itself inside him to find the UnSub and bring justice and peace for the victims and for Reid- for all the surviving families.

After an hour interviewing and talking to Spencer, Morgan, J.J., and Gideon had learned that Diana Reid had been a fifteenth-century English professor, as well as a single mother. Her husband, William Reid, had left her when Spencer was four when the stress of dealing with her schizophrenia became too much for him. Her symptoms and episodes had worsened afterwards, but Spencer had managed to take care of himself and her despite his tender age.

Aside from her love of knowledge, her hobbies had included painting and gardening. However, she'd often been depressed and lethargic, unwilling even to get out of bed, so her activities had been limited, but she'd improved after being sent to Bennington. She'd spent most of her time reading classics and non-fiction, as well as a great deal of poetry, and writing everything from exams to lessons to letters for people that had long passed out of her life. Although Spencer lived nearby he admitted that he'd rarely visited her in person but wrote to her every day to assuage the guilt; he further admitted that he hadn't been able to bring himself to go there but on the rarest occasions because Diana's illness was genetic and he feared having to one day be committed to Bennington himself.

The young man's story tugged at Morgan's heartstrings, as did his obvious grief, but Spencer maintained a level of composure and didn't break down terribly at any point, and Morgan remained professional.

Diana had been at the sanitarium for a little over five years when she'd been taken and, just as Spencer had said, there was nothing to suggest disquiet or problems in her life, nothing out of the ordinary or uncommon happening in the preceding months. She'd had a brilliant mind underneath the schizophrenia and a sharp personality that had carried her through hardships as well as a deep love for her son, but nothing else seemed particularly extraordinary about her.

Yet, somewhere along the way, Diana Reid had caught the UnSub's eye- how, when, and why where the questions they needed answers for.

They were leading Spencer out of the office now and, although he was still visibly upset and drained, he was collected. The man, it turned out, had no other family- none nearby or close enough to him to care about his loss. It was sad, Morgan lamented, but so were so many of the cases they had to deal with every day, and he'd learned that there was little that could be done about it but bring in the UnSub and thereby provide what closure and comfort they could.

He shook Spencer's hand again. "Thank you for your cooperation. I'm truly sorry for you loss and I promise we'll do everything we can to catch your mother's killer." he assured.

"We'll keep you informed." Gideon added, also taking his hand.

Reid thanked them, then began looking around for something. "They've remodeled the station since the last time I was here-" he explained apologetically, "could you point me in the direction of a restroom?"

"Sure." Morgan answered, then started leading him to the sheriff's private bathroom, forgoing the public one down the hall as compassion compelled him to offer even that little kindness for the young man. He had a feeling that Spencer wasn't going there to relieve himself, and there wasn't any need for his anguish to be aired to the world.

He showed him to the small bathroom, then remained in the adjacent office with Gideon and J.J. as Reid closed the door. Trying not to listen, he engrossed himself in the bulletin board, tacking up their newest information on Diana Reid and stepping back to review it all. All the same, the sound of retching passed clearly to his ears and Derek cringed in sympathy. A minute later, the retching was replaced by running water and Morgan was almost pleased by the reaction; Spencer hadn't broken down the way he'd expected him to and certainly not enough to satisfy Morgan, who was aware of how damaging it could be to bottle up those feelings. With no family to support him, Derek had feared Reid might keep fighting it off to his detriment instead of confronting it.

Sighing, Morgan wondered why he cared so much anyway. It wasn't good to get involved with victims past a certain point and lose objectivity, but something about the kid pulled at him. He decided it was probably Reid's innocence- he looked more like a lost and wounded puppy than a doctor. Still, he _was_ an adult and he'd held up remarkably well during the interview, even when going into detail about the murders and showing him pictures of his mother in the grave. That alone told him Reid had more strength than first suspected and more than most people in his position did.

Morgan had expected Spencer to lose it when they'd shown him the photos- and it had almost seemed like he might for a moment- but then he began delving into the case like he was trying to solve it, dissecting the visual information and using his psychological insights to distance himself from the reality of it. And he was good. He picked out the folded arms quickly, as well as the curled fingers that they hadn't noticed before, which was further evidence that the UnSub felt a measure of remorse.

Checking his watch, Morgan figured Hotch and Prentiss would be finishing their interview soon and then they'd be in to collaborate. Once they had more of an idea of who the victims were, they'd be able to know more about who their UnSub was.

Gideon stepped over to him. "What do you think of him?" he asked quietly.

Morgan glanced over his shoulder at the bathroom door. "He'll be fine. Tougher than he looks."

However, that wasn't what Gideon meant. "What's a brilliant kid like that doing in a small place like Georgetown?" he pondered, staring at the bulletin in deep concentration.

"Taking care of his mother?" J.J. supplied, arranging their notes on the table.

"She's been gone for three years." Morgan pointed out, brow furrowed as he turned to look at her.

Gideon shifted, eyes not moving from the board. "Most families of missing persons fear leaving the area- that they'll show up again and they won't be there. Sometimes it's hard to move on." he stated, hands on hips.

Aware that the subject of their conversation wasn't far away, Morgan decided to change topics. "Diana Reid was schizophrenic- Mark Fairaway had severe OCD and Tourette syndrome. Maybe there's a connection there." he stipulated.

Gideon appeared pleased with the possibility but didn't have time to comment as the bathroom door opened and Spencer stepped out. Turning around, Derek noted that a few strands of his hair were wet- an indication he'd washed his face, probably with cold water- and he looked considerably more collected, having expelled some of his bridled agitation and distress. Reid offered them another smile, this one a little more genuine than the last, but it was still far from being real.

"Thank you. For everything." he added. "I know you'll do everything you can and I appreciate you being here; you may just be doing your job, but you chose this line of work for a reason and I'm grateful for what you're doing." he said, exchanging glances with the three of them but focusing mostly on the unit chief. "If there's anything I can do to help- anything at all- please don't hesitate to call or come by. You know how to reach me."

Indeed, they had his home and cell phone numbers, as well as his work number. "We'll be talking to acquaintances of your mother as well as those who were caring for her at Bennington; I'm sure we'll be in touch with you again." Gideon replied warmly, understanding the son's need to be involved, no matter how small the way.

Spencer thanked them once more, then turned to leave. Just then, the two remaining members of the BAU entered, cutting him off. He stepped back a pace and Hotch looked at him uncertainly, not understanding why the none-profiler was in their "conference room".

"Hotch, this is Dr. Spencer Reid. Spencer, this is Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner and Agent Prentiss." Gideon introduced, and they shook hands.

"Agent Morgan was kind enough to let me use a private bathroom to freshen up." Reid explained, smiling tightly.

Hotch's eyes met Morgan's and a mixture of approval and rebuke was reflected there. It was an act of compassion but, all the same, the unauthorized man shouldn't have been in the office where all of their evidence was laid out.

"This is a very difficult time for you; we're pleased to do anything we can to make you more comfortable." Hotch returned sincerely- if not somewhat diplomatically- removing any sourness from his voice. Reid certainly hadn't warranted it. "If there's nothing else we can do for you, my team and I have to work on the case."

Spencer nodded. "Of course." He left quickly, yet his gaze shifted to the bulletin board and lingered there for a second before he was gone.

Going over to the table, the team members each took a seat. "There _are_ other bathrooms." Hotch chastised, still positioning himself in his chair.

"I know." Morgan defended himself, "but I figured they'd be packed-"

Hotch held up a hand, stopping him. "I don't care, just don't let it happen again."

With that, the matter was dismissed, and Hotch moved on to the case. "Isaac and Fran Gamolin were a lower middle-class couple, living in a town five miles from here called Hinseburg. Neither had college educations and both struggled to keep jobs. Isaac last worked in a slaughter house for five months; Fran was a telemarketer for three. They had an eight-year-old daughter, a six-year-old boy, and a ten-month-old baby girl." he began reciting, running through the facts they'd garnered. "They weren't the most liked people- Isaac was a known alcoholic and Fran was a drug addict. Isaac was also suspected of molesting the two older children, although a report was never filed.

"When they went missing, most believed it was their dealer, but no one knew who their source was. The investigation never turned up anything. Isaac's parents have been taking care of the children ever since." Hotch finished, now allowing his team to join in.

"Were either of them known to be mentally ill?" Morgan asked.

Prentiss shook her head, brow slightly furrowed by the unexpected question. "No, although habitual narcotic abuse can cause mental deficiencies." she answered. "Why?"

Gideon glanced at the photos of the two victims in front of him. "Mark Fairaway and Diana Reid were both medicated for mental illnesses. We think there might be connection." he told her.

Hotch nodded, considering the possibility. "So far, none of them have a common workplace or living area; while the Fairaways lived nearby, most of the victims we've managed to identify were scattered across California. It makes it more likely the UnSub's picking them because of specific traits, rather than mere convenience." he agreed. "And the killings were definitely emotion-driven, so we can rule out a sociopath. He hates them, but he also feels remorse for what he does to the victims- or at least for some of them." he concluded.

Before they could go on, there was a sudden rap on the door and then it partially opened to reveal Detective Shrowder. "Excuse me, but we just got this in from the coroner's office and we thought you'd want to see it right away." he explained, stepping in and putting a folder down in front of Hotch.

Hotch took it and began examining the contents, not waiting for the detective to continue. "They've determined that this man- whoever he was- was killed roughly five years ago, give or take a few months, based on decay. Which makes him the first victim." Shrowder announced excitedly, if not a little nervously, pointing to a photo of the remains. It wasn't pretty- he was one of the victims that had been mutilated, hands and genitals severed.

"Have they identified him yet?" Hotch asked eagerly. They all knew that, in a case like this, the first killing was often the most personal and this victim could be key to leading them to their UnSub.

Shrowder shook his head. "They're working on it as fast as they can, but it's gonna take a while; there isn't a whole lot left of him!" he pointed out. And it was true; what was left of the corpse was dried, misshapen, and decomposed.

Hotch nodded his understanding. "Anything else?"

"Yeah," Shrowder replied, "Tara Fairaway died of exsanguination, presumably from the severed wrists, as well as Isaac Gamolin."

"So then they were alive at the time of the mutilation." Gideon noted, cataloguing the information.

Shrowder continued. "Mr. Fairaway and Mrs. Gamolin, however, were killed from an overdose of some kind of extremely potent anti-psychotic. The name of it's in there." he pointed. "And Jane Evereski died of alcohol poisoning." he revealed, clearly finding it fascinating.

He wasn't the only one, except the profilers were considerably more baffled by it.

"Three CODs?" Morgan asked, looking at his team mates. "That's highly atypical. The method of killing is part of an UnSub's signature; he wouldn't just change it."

"Maybe he was experimenting?" Prentiss suggested. "Perfecting his craft, finding out what works for him."

"Except he reverted to the mutilation several times over the course of years, and never killed a husband and a wife by the same method." Gideon negated quickly, examining the photos of the graves tacked on the board from his seat with an expression of deep interest.

Alright, so there was another reason the UnSub was using different means of killing... There was silence for a long minute as they profilers pondered the strange new information, considering different angles and crossing them off. Then a light went on in Morgan's head, and he straightened in his seat.

"The victims appear to be varied as well, but there _is_ a common denominator." he said. "They were flawed- mentally or by character. The sexual abusers were mutilated, the psychologically troubled ones were drugged. A specific means of killing for each type of victim." he speculated with fair certainty.

"You think he's an avenger?" J.J. asked, surprised.

Gideon smiled as he caught on, but it was the disconcerting grin he wore when he'd gone into the mind of the UnSub and was locked securely into them. Frankly, it unnerved Morgan and, as much as he cared for the unit chief, he wasn't ever truly comfortable with him, fearful that Gideon might one day eventually topple over the edge- into another major depressive episode or a breakdown of a completely different but much more frightening sort.

"Absolutely." Gideon declared. "And I think we know now why he picked the victims; if we take a closer look into her life, who thinks that we'll find out that Tara Fairaway was a child molester, just like Gamolin?" He turned and looked at them, eyes sparkling with excitement and confidence.

Morgan's jaw tightened, unbidden memories from his own childhood washing over him at the suggestion with an icy iron claw, but he forced himself to push them aside. His chest was still tight when something else occurred to him suddenly. "If the first victim was a child molester- and he was the most personal killing- then it's likely our UnSub was abused by him."

It was without a doubt true and Gideon nodded in approval. "We need to know who he was." he stated to Shrowder, turning and holding up the picture of the mangled corpse.


	3. The Lives of Strangers

**Disclaimer-** see first chapter or profile.

**Chapter 3- The Lives of Strangers**

The BAU stood in front of the collective mass of detectives and policemen filling the precinct briefing room. All of the immediately relevant information to the case was tacked up behind them, on display for the officers' advantage, although they wouldn't go over most of it. Gideon, hands on his hips, began talking.

"We have a preliminary psychological profile of the UnSub. We're looking for a white male in his early twenties-to-mid-thirties with a menial job that makes him feel underappreciated, although he's highly intelligent, as indicated by the dumpsite and use of pharmaceutical drugs to kill. The genital mutilation suggests he was sexually abused as a child or was close to someone that was. In addition, he may have been battered." he entailed, delivering the profile in a clear-cut manner.

Morgan picked up after him. "He'll be withdrawn and anti-social but not unfriendly, living more internally rather than externally, and he won't be comfortable in crowds. The murders are his way of expressing the anguish he can't vocalize or otherwise let out. His manners will be docile, timid- in short, child-like- and this will lead you to believe he's not capable of committing such a violent crime."

"Do _not_ be fooled." Gideon warned.

J.J. shifted, drawing attention to herself. "In addition, he will be living alone, without any close relations or friends. He's been battling suicidal urges most of his life; if you get him into a corner while he's armed, he may turn the weapon on himself." she told them, pacing in front of them while maintaining strong eye contact.

"He's been living in Nevada for at least the past ten years, anywhere from twenty-to-forty miles from the gravesite in Piker Woods." Gideon resumed. "His job will be stable and he will be very devoted to his work, trying to compensate for some of his perceived inadequacies. This man doesn't have much, but what he has, he holds onto with an iron fist." He held up a tightly clenched hand to illustrate, then continued. It was time to finish up the briefing. "The last two victims were killed approximately three months ago, so he may be getting ready to kill again at any time. Because his dumpsite's been discovered, he's going to have to find a new one, and he's going to be very agitated and upset that he no longer has access to the graves, which are very precious to him and seen as both treasure troves and memorials. Now," he sighed, "any questions?"

The room was silent as the officers and detectives soaked in the weighty information, then a moment later the hands started to go up. The typical inquiries were raised and answered. Five minutes later, everyone was satisfied and had their orders, understanding their instructions and guidelines, and the meeting broke, the people going their separate ways.

"J.J. and I are going to check out the Fairaways' house and work places." Gideon told the team.

Hotch nodded his consent. "Morgan, you and I will look into the sanitarium Diana Reid was institutionalized at. Prentiss, keep looking into the Gamolins." he ordered. "Maybe if we look hard enough we'll figure out where they all crossed the UnSub's path." he added darkly, already heading off, brushing between Morgan and Gideon.

Glancing at Gideon, Morgan raised his eyebrows, shrugged, and then followed.

...

The halls of the hospital were pristine white, with aqua-blue bordering. The tiles of the floor shined, the light from the bulbs overhead glowing off from them, and the glass on the window was almost invisible. Everything about Bennington Sanitarium conveyed orderliness and cleanness- a safe place for those who weren't safe within their own skin.

Morgan fought the urge to put his glasses back on in the overly-bright hospital, instead squinting as they stopped at the reception desk. A woman in a nurse's uniform was sitting on the other side, working at a relaxed pace on a computer.

"Hello," Hotch greeted. "I'm Supervisor Special Agent Hotchner, with the FBI. We're investigating the murder of one of your former patients, Diana Reid. I need to speak with her doctor." he told the woman bluntly.

She was a little taken aback, but she typed away at her keyboard all the same. "Uh, I see..." She studied the screen before her as the information was pulled up. "Diana Reid yes- she was an inpatient here from July 30th, 2000, to April 17'th, 2005. Her doctor was Lisa Ritman."

Hotch nodded. "We need to talk to her." he repeated.

Again, the nurse typed, then shook her head. "She's in session with a patient right now-"

"This takes precedence." Hotch interjected, not allowing any leeway.

The nurse smiled, getting the point. "Yes, sir." She picked up a phone and dialed. "Dr. Ritman, I'm sorry to interrupt you, but there are two gentlemen from the FBI waiting here to see you..."

...

Mark and Tara Fairaway had lived in a big house, with a big lawn, and a big garage. A large lake sat behind the house, the water sparkling in the hot summer sun, and boats bobbed on the surface. While most of the victims had been middle-class, there was definitely an exception for the Fairaways.

"Nice digs." J.J. commented, climbing the stone steps to the front door.

"I don't think they're getting any use of it right now." Gideon reminded solemnly. Pressing the doorbell, they heard the chime within. A second later, the doors opened to a little boy with big green eyes.

Leaning down, Gideon smiled warmly at the child. "Hi, there. I'm Jason Gideon; is your aunt or uncle around?"

Instead of responding, a young man came up behind the boy. "Can I help you?" he asked curtly, body language somewhat defensive.

Straightening himself, Gideon nodded. "Yes." He pulled out his ID, and J.J. did the same. "I'm Agent Gideon and this is Agent Jareau. We're with the FBI and we're currently investigating a series of murders that took place not far from here." he explained, tucking away his ID again. "Are you Matthew Fairaway? The son of Mark and Tara Fairaway?" Less defensive and more shaken, the other man nodded. "And you're already aware that your parents were among the victims found at Piker Woods?" he asked, partly for conformation and partly to state his purpose.

Matthew nodded once more, then put his hand on the top of the boy's head, turning him away gently. "Hey, Jack, why don't you go play upstairs, okay, buddy?" The little boy didn't resist and quickly did as he was told.

Gideon waited until after he was gone to speak again. "May we come inside?"

Holding the door open for them, Matthew stepped aside. "Yeah, sure."

...

Dr. Ritman couldn't have been more than thirty-six, her face still retaining its youthful glow even though she appeared exhausted as she came down the hall towards them. Standing from the chairs they'd been waiting in, Hotch and Morgan accepted her outstretched hand when she met them.

"Well, this is slightly unusual." Ritman noted after introductions were made. "I've talked to plenty of detectives before, but- as you can imagine- we don't get the FBI in here very often."

Hotch smiled, deciding quickly that he was going to like her. "I promise you we won't take up any more of your time than is necessary."

Ritman shook her head. "No, don't worry about it at all. Diana Reid was a good woman, one of my very first patients. I want to make sure she gets her justice." she told them adamantly. "I suppose you'd like to see her room?"

"That'd be great." Hotch agreed. Following her lead, they strode down the halls at a brisk but manageable pace. "Mrs. Reid was a paranoid schizophrenic, I understand." he prompted. "Was she stable?"

"She was medicated," Ritman answered, "but schizophrenia can only be treated, not cured."

Morgan looked at the doctor. "Was she coherent?" he asked.

"Off and on. She was usually able to interact with people, but she'd confuse things sometimes, places and people. She often thought I was an old college roommate and she was cramming for an exam." Ritman explained.

"How often did she get like that?"

Ritman sighed. "Regularly, but perhaps not often enough." Glancing to register their inquisitive expressions, she went on. "She hated it here. Like a lot of patients, she refused to admit she needed help and was crushed when Spencer forcibly committed her." She shook her head sadly. "As hard as it was for her, it was even harder for him to do that to her. But he was looking after her, the very best way he knew how."

Hotch nodded thoughtfully. "Did you ever see anyone lurking around the hospital or on the grounds outside? Someone that seemed out of place or that you just got a bad feeling about?" he questioned, even though he knew she would have already been asked the same thing by the police after Diana's abduction and it would have been noted in the case file.

"No, no one like that." Ritman answered. "When Diana first went missing, I assumed she'd somehow gotten past the security and wondered off. But when she didn't turn up, I began to have my doubts." she confided, obviously blaming herself to some measure for Diana having been taken out from under her nose.

"You were working that day?" Morgan stated.

Ritman nodded. "Yes. I was reviewing another patient's treatment history when Nurse Collins came into my office, wanting to know if I knew where Diana was."

That seemed pretty cut and dry. "How did her son take her abduction?" Morgan inquired, moving the conversation along.

Again, Ritman shook her head, closing her eyes in sympathy. "Spencer was absolutely frantic. He blew in here like a storm, asking questions, telling the police where to go and what to do, reeling off how far she could have gotten and how..." She sighed.

Now that was interesting and Morgan stared at the woman beside him, surprised and befuddled. He wouldn't have pegged the young man as being so aggressive. "Does he always take control of situations like that?"

"Spencer's used to being responsible for his mother. But he's only really assertive if he knows what he's talking about." Ritman explained.

"And he knows about police investigations?" Hotch wondered incredulously.

Stopping at a door, Ritman turned, facing them with an odd mixture of sad irony and defensiveness in her expression. "I'm probably one of the few people who know, but- if things had gone just a little differently- he could have been a member of your team of profilers."

Morgan and Hotch were shocked. "Spencer wanted to be FBI?" Morgan repeated.

Ritman snorted. "_Wanted?_ He was accepted." She opened the door behind her and led them into the room that had once belonged to Diana, although another patient had long since taken up occupancy in it. "Went to Quantico for the training and everything. Then, a weak before he was set to complete, he walked away."

Hotch and Morgan moved about the room, getting a feel for what Diana's day within it might have been like. "Do you know why?" Hotch pressed.

"No. I heard about it through Diana- and I don't think even she knew any more than that." Ritman replied, standing back as the profilers worked.

Hotch, raking over the standardized bureau with piercing eyes without touching anything, found the information unsettling. "And you never asked him about it?"

Morgan slipped a finger between the blinds, looking out the window to the grounds beyond. They were well maintained, with picnic tables for the patients and visitors to sit at, lush gardens to walk through, and the green grass and bushes that were neatly trimmed. People walked around below, each engrossed in their own affairs or lost in illusionary concerns, and outside the high wall that penned them in was the long driveway that connected the hospital to the main road. Woods rose up on the other side of it, directly facing the room. It would have made an ideal place for someone to watch the patients in the upper floors of the building without being seen; it could very well have been how Diana was selected.

"I wanted to," Ritman admitted, "but it wasn't my place. It didn't affect Diana too much- other than she was happy to have her son not going into a dangerous line of work- so there was no medically relevant reason for me to bring it up."

Turning his head to look at the doctor, Morgan abruptly switched topics. "Did Mrs. Reid always have the blinds closed?" he asked, fairly certain of the answer already.

Ritman was a little surprised by the sudden question, her brow furrowing as she tried to remember. "Ah, no, actually. Diana like to be able to look outside, so they were usually open, unless she was trying to sleep."

Hotch walked over, inspecting the view himself, and knew where Morgan was going with this.

"He probably stood right there and watched her, learned her habits, and waited." Morgan stated.

"For the right moment to take her." Hotch agreed.

Morgan shook his head, disgusted by it. "No one even saw or knew he was there."

Turning, Hotch faced Ritman. "Where are the common areas?"

...

Gideon sat down on the stuffed couch, J.J. next to him, and made himself comfortable as Matthew and Rachel- his sister- took seats in two matching chairs opposite them. "You have a very nice house." Jason complimented, glancing around the large living room. Glass doors and windows dominated one wall, the floors were marble with ornate rugs decorating certain areas, and an impressive entertainment center ran along another wall. The Fairaways had certainly been well-off.

"We've been over this before." Rachel stated bluntly, sidelining the pleasantries. From the dark scowl on her face, it was clear she wasn't happy with their presence. "We just want this to be over with."

Gideon nodded, staring at the young woman, and was struck by the darkness in her eyes; these kids had been through something horrific and were showing it. "Of course. We understand that- we just have a few questions."

"What can you possibly ask that we haven't been asked before?" Rachel demanded, glaring.

"Well, we're profilers," J.J. answered, as unthreateningly and sincerely as possible, "and we approach investigations a little differently than detectives do. We're gathering information to determine the personality and mind-set of the man that killed your parents and to figure out how your parents got his attention, and why. We have a theory we're working with, but we need to try to confirm it."

This placated the youths slightly, but they were still defensive. "What's your theory?"

Gideon shifted, knowing this was where they needed to be gentle. If they were right, Matthew- or possibly Jack- had been molested by Mrs. Fairaway. "We believe the killer may have been abused as a child- likely one or both of his parents were unstable- and he killed them as a way to get revenge. Now, he's reenacting the event by going after anyone that reminds him of them." he explained cautiously, watching their expressions. After a long moment, when they still hadn't said anything, Gideon continued. "Your father had Turette's and OCD, didn't he?" They nodded. "And your mother-"

"She wasn't our mother." Matthew snapped angrily.

Of course, Gideon was aware that Tara was Mark's second wife but, all the same, the vehement reaction was unexpected.

"Our mother died in a burglary eleven years ago. Our dad was devastated and was never the same afterwards. He slept with Tara while he was still grieving, got her pregnant, and nobly married her." Matthew sneered. "Tara never cared about our dad- just his money."

The room was silent for a brief moment, the agents absorbing the outburst, before J.J spoke. "So, I take it there wasn't any love lost... when she went missing?" she inquired hesitantly, not wanting to hurt or offend them. Their stony expressions, however, assured her that she was correct.

"Did Tara," Gideon went on, picking up where he'd left off, "ever do anything... inappropriate with you or Jack?"

Matthew's eyes grew even darker- and more pained. He glanced away for a split second and then shot a deadly glare at Gideon. "What does that have to do with anything?" he demanded.

"If the UnSub knew or believed that she was abusing one of you, he may have seen that as justification for murdering her." Gideon replied neutrally.

"And how would he know that?" Rachel asked flippantly, apparently finding the notion almost amusing for some reason.

J.J. shifted. "We don't know." she admitted. "He may have been watching you, or perhaps he was able to recognize the signs you were exhibiting, having been victimized himself."

No one said anything for a long minute, a battle being waged within Matthew as he stared at them, no one blinking, and his eyes filled with anger and tears. At last he nodded. "When I was little." he whispered, voice hard with pain. "When I got older, she lost interest."

The horror of it and their reluctance to discuss it became clearer. "But that was even worse, because there was Jack." Jason stated.

The tears slipped from his eyes, large and heavy, and rolled down his cheeks. "Yeah. I knew. I was always afraid it was going to happen... and then I knew."

"She threatened us if we ever told anyone!" Rachel broke in, defending herself and her brother in anguish as the wall of hostility fell. "Said that no one would believe us, and that she'd kill us before they could take us away. And she would have, just to get even."

Gideon nodded, understanding. "You tried to protect him," addressing Rachel in regard to Matthew and Matthew in regard to Jack, "but you couldn't. And when she went missing, you were grateful."

Matthew sniffed, nodding. "From the moment she went missing, I hoped she was dead."

"What about your dad?" Gideon pressed, wondering what his feelings were about him.

Matt shrugged. "He wasn't as bad as Tara, but he could barely take care of himself, let alone care about us." he said noncommittally. It seemed like Matt wouldn't have cared either way if his dad had come back or not.

"And no one- no one at all- knew that Tara was abusing you?" Gideon asked, needing to make sure that the UnSub couldn't have found out through a line of communication.

Matt and Rachel both shook their heads. "No," Rachel replied, "as far as everyone else was concerned, she was the perfect housewife and we were a happy little family. No one had a clue."

Sighing, Gideon nodded, satisfied for now and in deference to the emotional toll this was taking on the teenagers. It was clearly difficult for them to talk about what had happened and there was no reason to put them through more than necessary. "Okay... You mind if we take a look around the house and yard?"

The two seemed relieved and they wearily nodded, getting up to show them around.


	4. Friendship, Sypmathy, Suspicion

**Disclaimer-** see first chapter or profile.

**Chapter 4- Friendship, Sympathy, Suspicion**

Hotch and Morgan had visited the cafeteria, the yard, the group therapy room, and Dr. Ritman's office, finding nothing extraordinary but becoming more convinced their theory about Diana Reid's selection was correct. Additionally, she had been last seen in the garden outside and, while the yard was fenced, it wouldn't have been a major feat for someone to get around it- or take a patient along with them. Hotch and Morgan were comfortable assuming that was how the UnSub had gotten Diana out of the facility.

Finished with their tour, they were on their way out of the building now, Ritman walking beside them as the three talked. Morgan's phone rang and he smiled as he picked it up, moving ahead of Hotch and Ritman.

"Hi, baby doll! What do ya got for me?"

Garcia grinned on the other end, delighted. "More than you can handle, Chocolate Wonder." she cooed behind her desk.

"I'd die trying." he replied.

Typing at her computer, the screen showed several windows overlapping each other. "In the immediate area surrounding Georgetown, there are 27 men between the ages of 20 and 30 that have violent criminal records and are reported to have been abused by their parents as children. I'm faxing over the list to Prentiss right now, along with their files." Garcia answered.

"Any of them stick out to you?" Morgan asked.

"Well, some definitely don't blend in very well," she admitted, eyeing a photo of a man with black and red hair spiked in a mohawk, his face littered with piercings, "and I wouldn't be surprised if a few turned out to psychopathic killers, but- no. Can't say I'd peg any of them as being our guy. But," she sighed, more cheerily, "I'm not the profiler and, as we all know, looks can be deceiving!"

Wasn't that the truth?

"You wouldn't be deceiving me by appearing to be the most beautiful, exotic creature on Earth, now would you?" Morgan teased.

"Mmm, there's nothing wrong with your vision!"

Smiling, he glanced backward at the two following him several feet behind. "Hey, sugar, can you do one other thing for me? I'd like you to check out Spencer Reid's FBI file. He's the son of one the vics; apparently came pretty close to being one of us before he walked away- I'd like to know why." he requested, a little nervous about being overheard by the doctor, who was still friends with the young man.

"Sure thing, hot lips. And when I do," Garcia replied, "I expect lavishing expressions of gratitude!"

Morgan laughed softly. "Done deal." he promised warmly. "Keeping looking for any similarities between the vics' backgrounds while you're at it."

Garcia snorted. "So much to do- who do you think I am?"

"The great tech-genius of the FBI." Morgan answered with a grin.

Garcia beamed. "And don't you forget it!"

Morgan could hear the busy sound of the keys tapping as Penelope got back to work, and he closed the phone, knowing he'd hear back from her when she had something more for them, and tucked the phone away. Slowing his pace so the others would catch up to him in a minute, his mind began wondering over the case; the victims, the profile, the dumpsite, and-

Spencer!

He didn't see the other man entering the hall from an intersecting wing- and apparently Spencer didn't see him either- and they collided, the coffee and stack of papers Spencer had been carrying spilling everywhere. Shocked, it took a moment to register what had happened, and then Spencer was apologizing profusely.

Bending to help collect the papers now littered on the floor, Morgan shook his head. "Don't worry about, man. It happens."

Spencer looked at the other man's once-white, now coffee-stained, shirt. "You're soaked! I- I'm so sorry!"

Morgan handed him a stack of papers as Hotch and Ritman reached them. "Yeah," he brushed it off with a light smile, "and I'm not the only one." he said, glancing at Spencer's equally ruined shirt.

"Dr. Reid," Hotch greeted, alarmed to see him, "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

Spencer smiled nervously, finishing collecting the papers and rising with Morgan. "I work here. In another wing, that is." he told the two agents. "Mostly with outpatients, although I occasionally consult on the residents."

Hotch nodded.

"Aren't you late for your group?" Dr. Ritman asked, regarding her colleague with concern.

"Ah, not _yet_." he replied, seeming a bit flustered. "I was just headed there."

Hotch glanced at Morgan, silently deciding there was no need for them to talk to Spencer again just yet or to delay him from getting to work, and he started to move around the young doctor. "Well, we won't keep you, then." he said, passing Spencer, and Morgan moved to follow.

"Wait," Spencer stopped them, putting a hand on Morgan's arm and then releasing him after he'd gotten the FBI agent's attention. "I keep a couple of extra shirt in my office- you might as well take one. It's the least I can do." he added.

Glancing at Morgan's shirt, Hotch nodded his consent after a moment's consideration. "Thank you for all your help, Dr. Ritman." He shook her hand in farewell, as did Derek, and she bid a last good-bye to the three men. A moment later they left her, following Spencer down another hall.

"You do group therapy? What kind?" Hotch asked, partly to be conversation, partly because it was good to know everything they could about a victim's family members.

"It's a support group, for families of missing persons." Spencer answered. "I started out as a member after my mom disappeared. Then last year, Dr. Thager- the group leader- moved and I took over."

Morgan looked at Spencer as they walked, still trying to work out the complexities of the young man- and in particular how he'd once been an FBI cadet. "Are you going to stay with the group, now that your mother's been found?" he asked, as gently as he could.

"It depends on the group." Spencer replied. "We encourage members whose loved ones are found dead to transfer to an appropriate support group- in this case, one for families of victims killed by violence. We'd never kick them out but, if they stay, it can be a painful reminder to the other members of what may have happened to their own loved ones." he explained at break-neck speed, voice wavering intermittently with emotion. "I'm not exactly a member anymore, but I do occasionally participate and the others are aware of my loss. Whether I stay or I give the group over to another therapist depends on whether my presence becomes detrimental to the group members or not."

He seemed to be doing well enough, considering the hard news they'd given to him only a few hours earlier, but Morgan had a feeling that working and distracting himself was Spencer's way of coping. However, he was still surprised that he hadn't cancelled the session, even if it was an avoidance tactic.

Hotch was apparently reading his mind. "I'm surprised you didn't cancel the session, or find someone to fill in for you."

"It would have been hard finding someone on such short notice, but even if I could..." Spencer drifted, shoulders heavy and face sad, and sighed. "They're my group. I want to be there for them. And focusing on others helps take some of the edge off." he replied.

Morgan's brow was crinkled as he studied the man, recollecting his earlier reaction to the news of his mother's death and the old resignation that was in his eyes now. It had been there even then, he realized; the shock had just distorted it. "You really weren't surprised to learn your mother was dead?" It was posed as a question, but was actually a statement of fact.

Spencer shook his head, swallowing hard as he dipped his head, fighting tears. "I've been checking all the hospitals and sanitariums in the state for any Jane Does matching her description- even visited a few on more than one occasion looking for her- and every hospital in the country has her file in their database. But she never showed up. In her condition, if she wasn't in an institution, she wasn't in any place good. Logically and statistically, I knew that she was most likely dead- and, considering some of the alternatives..." He shrugged, unshed tears making his already intense eyes even brighter. He offered them a bittersweet smile with little if any warmth in it. "There are some things worse than death."

Hotch and Morgan couldn't refute that.

Deciding for Spencer's sake to change the subject, Morgan allowed a moment of silence to clear the air, then took a loud breath. "So, you trained at the academy?" he inquired conversationally.

Spencer stiffened. "That was a long time ago. Sometimes things just don't work out." he stated briskly.

Noting the automatic defensiveness, Morgan kept his tone light. "What happened?"

Spencer brushed back a strand of hair, tense and obviously uncomfortable with the line of questioning. "I didn't see eye-to-eye with some of the other cadets. One thing led to another, and there were some problems." he answered vaguely.

It was clear he didn't want to talk about it- which only intrigued Morgan more- but he wasn't going to press it. The man had been through enough already that day without having to relive the events that had led to the death of a career, and it wasn't as if he was a suspect right now.

They arrived at Spencer's office and he showed them inside, closing the door behind them. There were floor cabinets on either end of an old antique desk, which was huddled to one side, and a couch ran along the wall nearest to the door, a stuffed chair positioned across from it at the foot. The desk was neatly organized with stacks of papers- notes on various psychological ailments, patient files, and research on unrelated subjects- and several books were lined up in one. In the center of his desk was a computer monitor, the rest of the machine hidden somewhere below.

Opening the bottom drawer, Spencer pulled out two shirts- Morgan noticed that there was also a pair of corduroy pants in the drawer- and placed them on the top. Following the younger man's lead, Morgan stripped off his coffee-soaked shirt, and he was relieved when Spencer took the light pink pin-striped dress shirt, leaving the solid blue one for him. Amazingly, the kid was able to pull off the look quite nicely without appearing effeminate.

"I wonder if any family members of the other victims are in your group?" Hotch queried aloud.

Spencer shrugged, the mention of the murders making him tense slightly again and a flash of pain tightening his features. "I don't know who the other victims are, so I couldn't tell you."

Taking out a small tablet from his inner-jacket-pocket, Hotch opened it and flipped to a page with the names of the victims that had now been identified- the list had grown rapidly since the team's arrival in Nevada due to incoming lab results for tests that had been running for the past several days- and showed it to Spencer. He studied it for a second, then nodded.

"Family members from five of the victims have come through here at least once. Only three are regular, though- myself included." Reid informed them. "You're welcome to observe the session, if you like. We've had detectives sit in before." he offered.

Hotch and Morgan glanced at each other, silently speculating if there was any benefit. Morgan raised his eyebrows. "Couldn't hurt." Although he didn't voice it, his reasoning was simple; sometimes UnSubs enjoyed studying and watching the grief they inflicted on the surviving family members. It was almost like laughing in their faces- that they could be so near and no one know- and it made them feel even more superior.

Whether Hotch had the same line of reasoning or not, he nodded his agreement all the same. "Will we be disturbing the group?" he asked, turning to Spencer.

"It'll put them a little on edge," Spencer replied honestly, "but they know what it's like and are always willing to help any way they can."

Inwardly, Hotch was impressed with the young doctor; he seemed to know his patients very well, was professional, collected, and responsible- despite his youth- and was holding up during a very difficult time, even while grief was evident. Hotch was also worried.

Following Spencer once more, they headed off, arriving at a set of double doors a minute later. Going through, they entered into a comfy room, large enough to easily fit the ten men and women seated in a circle, as well as a table with refreshments in one corner and another along a wall with photos of the missing. There was a bouquet of fresh flowers in a vase next to them- Hotch doubted Spencer ever let the flowers remain one day beyond their prime, nor ever let the table be without them.

"Sorry I'm late." Spencer apologized to the group, putting the messenger bag slung over his shoulder down and sitting. Morgan and Hotch found two empty seats and did likewise. "I had a slight mishap."

They heard Spencer, but most of their eyes were on the strangers that had come with him. "This is Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner and Special Agent Derek Morgan, with the FBI." Spencer introduced, preempting the forthcoming inquisitions. They received a few waves and a couple of greetings, but most remained uncomfortable.

"I'm sure most of you know about the Piker Woods murders; Agents Hotchner and Morgan are on the team investigating the case. They'll be sitting in today." Spencer finished.

Hotch forced a smile for the gloomy faces and drew a breath, preparing to say something to break the ice and put them more at ease, but he didn't get the chance.

"Was one of the bodies a missing person from our group?" a man asked heatedly, consternation in his voice.

Spencer swallowed hard and nodded. "My mother- as well as couple others- were among those found. Their families have been informed." he told them, his voice restricted but kept from breaking.

There was soft gasps from a few, then silence. "Oh, Spencer..." A motherly woman with large red hair looked at him dolefully, the pain and sympathy in her expression communicating the words they'd all heard too many times before to be repeated. "At least you know now." she consoled, although she clearly felt the failure such offerings of comfort could bring.

"Thank you." he smiled back at her appreciatively.

"Who else?" the same man pressed, breaking the tender moment. "Who else was found?"

Morgan knew it wasn't Spencer's place to say but- before the doctor could either turn the question aside or answer it- another man spoke suddenly. "My mother was."

Morgan recognized him as Jeremiah Hart, a scrawny man with slicked-back sandy hair that was barely out of his teens. His deep brown eyes were wide and his voice was soft and timid. "She was identified earlier today."

There was another round of shocked and forlorn cooing and sighs. "There are a couple of others, but they're not here." Spencer added. "For the moment, we'll respect their privacy."

A woman with curly black hair piled on top of her head laughed. "Well, congratulations, Dr. Reid, Jerry-" she bobbed her head at them belligerently, "you've got your peace. Now all you gotta do is bury their corpses and cash in their wills."

Spencer had anticipated that kind of response from Alison and he knew it wasn't personal, but- all the same- it stung, and Jeremiah flushed with anger. "It's not like that and you know it!" Jeremiah yelled back.

"Yeah?" Alison rolled her eyes. "Seems better to me."

Jeremiah's ire rose, but it was choked off by tears. "It's better than not knowing," he conceded, then glanced at Spencer, "but it doesn't change what we've lost, or how hard it is."

"At least you can start to get past it!" the man, John Ladly, argued heatedly.

Gathering himself, Spencer inserted himself into the conversation once more, seeking to bring down the level of tension. "Over time, yes; it's possible to process the loss and learn how to manage the grief, relearning daily activities and routines- just as we all have been doing since the ones we care about went missing. But, as you know, it takes time and the process itself is painful." he lectured, pain and his struggle against it both audible and visible.

Hotch and Morgan had been watching the group since they'd sat down, silently and keenly observing each member- the way this person's hands were folded, the way another twitched, the way one person looked away at certain times, and the way another tapped their foot. They all said something about the individuals themselves as well as the group dynamic, and both profilers could tell there was a well of mixed emotions that were constantly in play and other emotions that were in response to the murders in Piker Woods. There was a lot of stress, which was typical of any type of group therapy, but everyone was also comfortable enough with each other- even if everyone didn't like everyone else- to express how they really felt. Some of the members were further along in the grieving process and were endeavoring to accept what they already knew; that they would likely never find their missing loved ones.

"It's understandable to envy the closure Jeremiah and I now have," Spencer went on, gaining some strength and looking to Jeremiah briefly- and the younger man appeared soothed- "but the outcome is anything but desirable." he finished with a wealth of emotion.

The members who had spoke contentiously now seemed chastised and suitably contrite, although they were just as gloomy. "Sorry." John mumbled.

Spencer shook his head dismissively. "Apologies aren't necessary here, Mr. Ladly." he reminded with a small but true smile.

Hotch recognized affection, and he wondered if it was driven by empathy or if he was transferring parental feelings to him.

A hush settled over the group for a moment, then Jeremiah's gaze fell on Morgan. "Is that- that's Spencer's shirt." he noted disjointedly, almost confused.

Morgan was surprised by the abrupt topic change, but he nodded. "Yeah; that little mishap Dr. Reid mentioned earlier involved a cup of coffee." he replied lightly, smiling.

Jeremiah stared blankly, seeming to be having trouble making sense of what Morgan had told him. However, it had been a hard day for the young, Morgan sympathized, and the shock of his mother's death was clearly still clinging to him. Morgan had seen Jeremiah earlier in the station, looking agitated and distraught, and had made a quick exit, wanting to be anywhere but there. Morgan couldn't blame him.

Shaking himself out of his daze and finally understanding that the coffee had been spilled and that Spencer had given him the shirt, Jeremiah forced a tiny smile. "Oh." He appeared a little abashed and very vulnerable and Morgan's heart went out to him.

"So," the red haired motherly woman began quietly, "are you going to be staying with us, Dr. Reid and Jeremiah?"

Spencer glanced at the younger man but, seeing no reply forthcoming, answered for himself. "I haven't decided yet. I've stayed in Nevada for my mother but," he swallowed, "now that she's... _gone_, I'm not sure what I'll do."

An expression of disgust was on Ladly's face. "You're just going to leave us?" he sputtered. "That's fair." He looked away, hiding the hurt he felt; unknown to Morgan or Hotch, Ladly's fifteen-year-old son had vanished four years ago without word or warning. To this day, he didn't know if his son had run away or been kidnapped and he had no idea if he was even still alive. In his time with the group, Ladly had become attached to Spencer as only a man who'd lost the person that meant most to him in the world could, imagining he saw fractions of his son in the young doctor.

"No," Spencer shook his head adamantly, "I don't know what I'm doing yet but, the second I do, I'll tell you."

The despair didn't leave the room, each one battered by the memories of their loved ones and the tormenting thought that, like Jeremiah and Reid, they were likely dead but they would never know. Spencer blinked back tears, apparently disheartened by it.

"Don't ever lose hope." he urged gently. "Y-you never know what you'll find tomorrow. Even if it's not what you want, there are still gifts in every day." he stuttered with pain.

Morgan had to smile a little in amazement at the encouragement Spencer was offering after the terrible news he'd received that day. The kid had some kind of strength inside him, and Morgan had to admire him for that.

The meeting had continued for close to an hour, stories of loss and better days being passed around, what each was doing to cope and the unexpected things that brought the grief and questions flooding back to their minds with a vengeance being shared as well. Spencer had done well soothing and encouraging the members despite the emotional struggle visible to the profilers; even though his mother had been lost years ago, Diana had been dug up- literally and metaphorically- and her final burial had been set in motion for Spencer to deal with it for once and for all. To say good-bye, to make choices about his future, was what he now faced.

Morgan had watched Spencer closely throughout the meeting, seeing the pain that washed over his features at certain times as well as the moments of light; sparks that told of happier times that he could still remember but were a two-edged sword at present. About that time, Morgan became aware that the kid was getting under his skin and nothing he did to try to correct himself was having much effect. He almost felt compelled to reach out and comfort Spencer with a hug or touch to the back of the head, to reassure him that his broken world _could_ one day mend into something new.

They were leaving now, the group members dispersing as they entered the parking lot. Morgan and Hotch had exchanged thanks, farewells, and well-wishes with Spencer, although Morgan expected- or hoped, if was honest with himself- to see him again before this was over and the team headed back to Quantico. He and Hotch were now at the car, quietly discussing the meeting as Hotch unlocked the door.

"Can't be too surprised that the Gails and Plathards weren't there." Morgan stated. "It's a wonder Jeremiah showed."

Hotch shook his head slightly, his face grim. "I'm not sure about that. He's clearly dependent-" He was cut-off as the sound of a sputtering engine caught his attention.

A few cars over, Spencer exited his vehicle, popping the hood. After a minute of fishing around inside and looking, he finally sighed, closing it once more with an expression of irritation and resignation.

"Everything okay?" Morgan called over, although it was clear everything wasn't.

"Not exactly." Spencer replied.

Morgan couldn't believe that he was having car trouble now on top of everything else; as if the kid's day hadn't been bad enough already. "Do you need a tow-truck?" he asked, ready to volunteer one of the FBIs dime.

Spencer shook his head. "No; I can leave it here tonight and come back tomorrow for it." He ran a hand through his hair with a heavy exhalation and pulled out his phone.

Calling a cab, it was easy to guess.

"I can give you ride." Jeremiah offered, standing a few cars over.

Spencer shook his head again, giving the younger man a warm, sympathetic smile. "Thank-you Jeremiah, but I'm just gonna get a taxi. You should go home and take care of yourself." he replied tenderly.

Compassion flooded Morgan, loathing the idea of Spencer waiting outside the hospital, alone in the open to think about all the things that he was better off not thinking about until he was in the comfort and privacy of his own home. "You know, we were going to check out your house anyway. We could take you." he reasoned, ignoring Hotch's alarmed- as well as silently berating- look. For one thing, what Morgan said wasn't entirely true; he and Hotch had discussed the possibility of visiting Diana's old house and, although a formal decision hadn't been made, they'd all but already decided it wasn't really necessary. And secondly, Morgan didn't have the right to offer the FBI as a cab service.

Much to Hotch's credit, the older agent didn't glare.

Spencer hesitated. "Are you sure?"

Morgan tapped the roof of the car. "Hop on in!" he encouraged.

Spencer glanced back to Jeremiah- who was clearly crestfallen- and then to his car before finally closing the phone and walking over to the black SUV. "Thanks."

Hotch didn't say anything, but Morgan wasn't a profiler for nothing and he could tell he wasn't pleased. He supposed he was going to be read the riot act for going over his head- _again_- but Morgan wasn't going to apologize for trying to make things a little easier for the young man.

"I have to swing by the station first." Hotch informed their passenger, glancing back at him in the rear-view mirror.

Spencer shook his head, signifying he didn't have a problem with that. "Of course." After a minute of silence, he asked, "How's the profile coming?"

Hotch shot Morgan a side-glance, warning him not to go into detail. "Uh, it's coming. We have a preliminary profile right now, but we're working on a fuller one. There are still some unanswered questions, but we'll know a lot more once the first victim is identified." Morgan answered, wondering what was up with the older agent.

"Do you think you'll catch him?" Spencer asked, wanting nothing but the truth.

Sensing that, Morgan hesitated, wanting to encourage him but not give him false hope, and Hotch replied first instead. "We usually do."

His words were cold, almost threatening, and Morgan was completely perplexed. Why was he behaving this way? Maybe it was something at home- but that didn't seem likely, since he'd been fine earlier. It was only more recently...

A hard knot formed in Morgan stomach. Hotch couldn't think- _Spencer_ was the UnSub! He glanced back in the mirror at the childlike man, his head bent and his long hair hanging over his deep, sorrowful eyes, and swallowed. But that was exactly what Hotch thought.

Hotch was a great profiler- one of the very best- but couldn't he be wrong? For the first time, Morgan hoped he was.


	5. Crossing the Line

**Disclaimer-** see first chapter or profile.

**Chapter 5- Crossing the Line**

They arrived at the station, Hotch and Morgan passing through the bullpen where they left Spencer and going into the briefing room. The rest of the BAU were gathered there, discussing the latest information they'd obtained.

"Hey, where have you been? We expected you back a while ago." Prentiss asked, standing by the bulletin and turning as they walked in.

"Yeah, we ran into a little detour." Hotch replied.

"Spencer Reid." Morgan clarified. "He was at Bennington, conducting a support group. We decided to sit in. And then his car died."

"He's outside the office right now." Hotch finished.

J.J., standing by the window, peered through the blinds in surprise. Sure enough, Spencer was standing amidst the bustling uniforms and passerby's, seemingly too agitated and nervous to sit. Studying him for a moment, her mind made the unbidden observation he really was beautiful in an unobvious and unexpected kind of way- endearing, really. Shaking aside the inappropriate thoughts, she returned her attention to the other agents in the room.

"Tough break." Gideon murmured, not specifying whether he meant Spencer's car, his mom, or his day as a whole.

Hotch was busy ruffling through a stack of folders and papers in search of something or other, but Morgan was leaning back against the table. "What'd you find out?" he asked, directing the conversation to Gideon and J.J.'s visit to the Fairaways.

"Rachel Fairaway is almost twenty now;" Gideon supplied, "she gained custody of her younger siblings and her parents' estate when she turned eighteen. She was untouched by her parents, by all accounts, but Matthew and Jared were both molested by their step-mother and Mr. Fairaway was too much of a mess to notice or care about what was happening."

Morgan nodded. "Fits the profile." Oddly, he was almost disappointed, and he had to remind himself that it was a good thing they were on track.

"There are some large glass windows on the lake-side of the house," J.J. added, "so the UnSub could have watched the Fairaways from a boat if he wanted to in order to learn their routines and the best time to abduct them."

"This UnSub is organized," Hotch agreed, still sorting through the files, "everything he does is pre-meditated."

Glancing at his superior, Morgan felt his jaw tighten again, knowing full-well what he was thinking. He wasn't wrong to go there, but it _felt_ wrong and, for a reason Morgan couldn't name, he was almost protective of the younger man waiting just outside in the bullpen. He wondered briefly if he'd react the same way if the suspicion was on another victim's son, but couldn't find a definite answer.

"What did you find out about Reid?" Prentiss asked, referring to Diana.

Turning to meet her gaze for a second, Morgan shifted with a near inaudible sigh before replying, fighting to relax. "Her doctor corroborated everything Spencer told us about her condition; aside from that, it's likely she was spied on in her room from the tree-line across the driveway. The wall around the rec. yard isn't all that secure either." he reported.

"Diana Reid was the only institutionalized victim we've found so far." Gideon noted with a hint of fascination. "Surrounded by other mentally ill patients, only she was chosen by the UnSub... It's curious; if he wanted to use the sanitarium as a hunting ground, it would certainly be the perfect place, but he never revisited it."

"She was buried with the first victim," Prentiss pointed out, "indicating she was among the first kills. The UnSub would have still been evolving; perhaps that's why."

Gideon nodded, still contemplating it but satisfied that the assertion was likely correct. Morgan wondered if Hotch was agreeing so readily and looked at him once again. His face was stony but his eyes flicked up and met Morgan's briefly from beneath a dark brow, then he returned his attention to restacking the files, having located the one he was searching for.

Sensing the tension, Gideon left his seat and strode purposefully toward the door. "I'm gonna get some fresh coffee." he stated, glancing at the two women meaningfully as he walked by.

"Y-yeah. Me, too." Prentiss agreed, a little confused.

J.J. likewise turned and followed them, excusing herself as Gideon passed through the door. "I'm going to go talk to the sheriff about doing a press release."

Hardly blind as to the true motive for the sudden exits, Morgan watched them with folded arms until they were gone and the door was closed. Apparently, Hotch didn't have any problem being left alone with him and the older agent was looking at Morgan when he turned to face him, waiting for him to start.

"With all due respect, what is up with you?" Morgan demanded, deciding not to disappoint him or put up any pretenses. "You were practically threatening the kid back in the car and, with the day he's had, he doesn't deserve that."

"He's not a kid." Hotch reminded pointedly. "And he fits the profile, Morgan."

Morgan's brow gathered incredulously, his face becoming just as dark as Hotch's. "So do half of the victims' children!" he argued.

"Which is why we have to be careful of what we say around them." Hotch replied, remaining unprovoked.

At least Hotch was expanding his focus and not just zeroing in on Spencer, and Morgan was relieved a little for that. But not enough. "Plus, Diana Reid _wasn't_ the first victim and there's no known history of sexual abuse or a paternal influence." he added in Spencer's behalf.

Hotch sighed, admitting it was true. "I'm not saying that Spencer's our UnSub, but we can't rule it out. Most cases of sexual abuse _aren't_ reported and, until the first victim is identified, we can't determine if Spencer had a relationship with him or not." Walking over to the still riled man, Hotch clasped a hand on his shoulder- a rare instance of breaching personal space. "We can't just see what we want to see. You like him and sympathize with him, I understand that..." He stared into Morgan's deep brown eyes, gentle and concerned. "But be careful."

Morgan nodded and swallowed, still disturbed over the turn of events but somewhat placated. With that, Hotch stepped around him and headed for the door. It opened abruptly, revealing Prentiss standing on the other side and Gideon and J.J. a few feet behind her. Prentiss was just as surprised as the older agent and offered an apologetic smile.

"Another victim's been identified; David Long." she explained. "Gideon and I were going to talk to his family and then run interviews on a couple of the violent offenders Garcia faxed us on."

"Good." Hotch consented, pleased even though he knew that it wasn't very likely that the UnSub had a criminal record, since it was contrary to the profile for him to be outwardly aggressive. However, they had to explore all avenues. "We'll take J.J. with us- unless you're going to be doing a press release soon?"

J.J. shook her head. "The sheriff suggested an evening broadcast and, after hearing him out, I agreed that it's the best thing to do, so it'll be a couple of hours before I have to be back here."

Satisfied that she had things well handled on her end, Hotch continued. "After we check out Dr. Reid's home, we're going to swing by Piker Woods again. I want to check out the gravesite myself and I'd like to have another pair of fresh eyes." he said, stating his reason for wanting her along. It felt like they were missing something and he wanted to take a broader look around the area, not just at the localized section where the bodies had been buried.

He stood to the side as Prentiss and the others filed past him into the room, gathering their stuff in preparation for leaving. They began talking about the case once more, sharing information and debating various possibilities- from where the UnSub lived to what hobbies he might have to his job. Waiting for J.J., Hotch left his post at the door, returning to the table with Morgan, and becoming engrossed in the conversation.

No one noticed Spencer enter the doorway and, after a minute, he began to slowly shuffle his way through the threshold, staring intently at the board and reading the notes, his squinting eyes scrutinizing the pictures.

"He wouldn't be a janitor or have a menial job." Prentiss stated, discussing the UnSub's career. "He wouldn't settle for that."

Spencer got closer.

"But he's too insecure to go for the work he wants." Gideon added.

"We can rule out manual labor." Morgan supplied, then shrugged thoughtfully. "Maybe an office worker or electrician?"

Gideon nodded his agreement. "Something respectable but still understated." He was about to go on when he was cut off by an unexpected voice.

"He's protecting the children." Spencer stated, breaking their flow. They turned to him in surprise, finally noticing that he was in the room and standing a foot away from the board.

"What?" Hotch asked.

Reid didn't take his eyes off from the organized array of pictures and notes. "All of the children were suffering because of their parents, and they all had somewhere to go after their parents were gone that was more secure and safer than the situations they'd been in before." he went on. "These weren't just retribution killings for what the UnSub suffered; in his mind, he's saving the children."

The team didn't know what to react to first- the piece of the profile that had just been given to them or its source, standing in a restricted area and staring at non-disclosed information. All the same, Spencer was right about the UnSub- how could they have missed it? It should have been obvious, but the entire time they'd been viewing the UnSub as a purely vengeful killer.

"I'm sorry," Spencer shook his head, pulling himself out of his reverie, "I shouldn't be in here."

J.J. immediately put on a reassuring smile, not wanting him to reprimand himself, no matter how correct he was. "No, you shouldn't be, but it's our fault, not yours." she said warmly, meeting Spencer's eyes. They looked back at her with sadness reflected in their depths, yet they were also bright and hopeful, colored with intelligence and a longing she couldn't quite identify...

Staring up at him for a moment, he finally nodded and turned, heading for the door voluntarily. J.J. went with him, leading him out and then staying with him in the bullpen to wait for Hotch and Morgan after she shut the door behind them. Inside the room, the team was mentally processing the new information, staring at the board and its plethora of facts, suppositions, photos, charts, and maps.

"So, maybe we should be focusing on the children more." Prentiss suggested. "There might be a commonality there- someone they all spoke to or saw."

"If we work under the assumption that the UnSub met the victims- or the children- through work, that would narrow down the field." Morgan added.

Gideon nodded. "Someone that did house calls, like a repair man or painter, would have access to the family dynamics. And if the UnSub _is_ trying to 'save' the children, then I think it's very likely he's keeping in contact with them somehow- if not physically, then with letters or anonymous gifts." he stated, convinced that the UnSub would need that kind of reinforcement to dislodge the loneliness that ate at him and reassure himself he _was_ indeed justified in killing the parents.

"So we have to start digging around for the means of contact." Hotch said, pleased they had something more to go on. "If we can find out how he's staying connected to them, we may be able to back-track it to the UnSub."

Mute glances were passed with varying thoughts carried on them, but the general consensus was relief and hope; up until then, their profile had done little to help them get closer to the UnSub- a man that wouldn't stand out and likely wouldn't kill again for weeks or even months and that had left them no geographical pattern, other than leaving all of the bodies at Piker Woods. Now, perhaps, they could get somewhere and all of the agents could finally begin to feel the pieces of the profile coming together in a more cohesive formation; they had an idea of what kind of job he'd have, knew he'd been abused, and now they knew that he was still keeping tabs on the victims' children somehow. Hopefully, the momentum would continue.

Gathering their belongings, the agents filed out.

...

J.J sat in the backseat with Spencer on the drive over to his house. The air was tense, which wasn't unusual for that type of situation, and the conversations the agents would normally have had about the case were limited by the young man's presence. Yet, Hotch used the time to wisely- and tactfully, noticing the subtle glare he got from Morgan- prod Spencer about something that had been on his mind.

"So, how did you end up working at Bennington?" he asked carefully, mindful to be none-threatening as he glanced in the rearview mirror at Spencer. "From what you said earlier, it wasn't a place you were fond of being around." _Not even to visit your mother_, was the unspoken thought.

It was a sensitive subject and Spencer licked his lips, hiding his eyes momentarily as pain washed his features. "At first, I was obsessed with finding my mother, and I wanted every insight I could get and every chance I could get to learn the grounds and the employees and the patients better, in hopes of discovering something that would help me find her. But, later, when I knew she was," his voice quivered with tears, "almost certainly gone forever... making myself be at Bennington sort of became my..."

J.J. stared at him as he searched for the right word, already understanding why he'd stayed as his eyes welled and his forehead crinkled with guilt and self-hatred.

"_...penance._" he finished softly, but there was a torrent of emotion in the two syllables.

Morgan glanced reprimandingly at Hotch, as if to ask if he was satisfied, but Hotch returned the rebuke, reminding the younger profile he should not be getting personally invested in Spencer or anyone else involved in the case. The brief exchange ended and, after a stretching and uncomfortable minute of silence, conversation returned to the car, the subject deftly switched.

Arriving at Spencer's place- which was in a moderate community of houses, busy streets, and parks- they found themselves at a modest home with a small yard and nicely kept garden. The house itself was also well cared for. Prior to Spencer returning to Nevada, he'd rented it out to four different couples over the course of six years- the time between when he was eighteen and had his mother committed and when he moved back when he was twenty-three.

Showing them in, he began to walk them through the house. It wasn't large or ornate, like the Fairaways, but it's small quarters were comfortable and homey, if not resounding with the missed presence of a family to inhabit it.

"The kitchen's to the left, living room to the right. The bedrooms are upstairs." Spencer informed them. Hotch peeked in at the kitchen as they passed; polished counters with rustic low hanging cabinets overhead, a fridge that looked like it had probably come with the house but was apparently still in good condition, racks of spices, an empty sink with a rag hanging between the sections, and neatly lined canisters.

They stopped in the living room- which more strongly resembled a library. Books were piled and strewn everywhere, bookshelves lining one wall and more tomes lying on lamp tables on either end of a flower-print sofa. From the looks of it, the sofa was hardly ever used, although it had been at one point in the distant past. Next to it was a chair with an ottoman and across from that was a stereo, record player, and TV tucked away in an entertainment center. Of the few movies visible, there were a couple of classic comedies and horror films, a handful of documentaries, and what looked like the entire collection of the "Star Trek" movies and series. At a quick glance, most if not all of Spencer's music appeared to be classical.

A previously unseen bird squawked from the corner of the room and then suddenly feathers were flying as it charged Hotch. "FBI! Freeze! Freeze!" it yelled at them, flapping furiously as it clawed at the agent, who was doing his best to ward off the attack.

"Lucie, no! Bad!" Spencer scolded, taking the struggling bird. In the arms of its owner, it finally calmed down, though it was far from happy. "They're not robbers, Lucie." He smiled apologetically at the agents, then returned to chastising his pet as he took her back to her perch. "And you're not a guard dog. You better cut that out before they arrest for you for impersonating an agent!"

Hotch was brushing himself off as he watched the offending animal with a glare, and Morgan and J.J. were doing their best to hold back laughs. Even Spencer sounded slightly amused as he berated the bird.

"Sorry about that. Lucie's a little protective." he explained.

Hotch could believe that; he'd just about swear she was scowling at him right now if it were physically possible.

Morgan snickered. "The FBI's trained to handle psychopathic serial killers;" he glanced at his superior, "a little bird _shouldn't_ be any problem."

Ignoring the jibe, Hotch gestured to the couch. "Was that your mother's?"

Spencer nodded. "The living room is more or less the way she left it, with some exceptions." he confirmed. "It never really felt like mine; I didn't have the heart to change it. I guess I figured if I could take care of her home for her, then maybe I could give something back."

_For putting her in Bennington_, J.J. finished silently, looking about the room. Even though he'd left it the way his mother had arranged it, there were touches of Spencer that she could pick out; the books, for one thing, and the green blanket hanging over the chair's arm for another, as well as the cup of cold coffee next to it. And, of course, the bird, standing on its perch in a corner.

"You said the bedroom's upstairs?" Hotch inquired.

Spencer nodded and led them to the stairs. On the second level, there was a bathroom immediately to the left, which connected to the master bedroom. It had once been his mother's, but Spencer had taken it for his own after moving back in- somewhat reluctantly it seemed, for there were still traces of Diana left in the room. His old bedroom had been turned into an office-slash-pet room and a long-haired orange cat yawned at them as they passed, curled up on the computer chair. His name was Spartacus.

"And he's more afraid of Lucie than she is of him." Spencer added. He was keeping good form, but J.J. could tell he was getting emotionally strained again as they went on.

The last room was for guests, but it didn't look like it had ever been used.

"Do you mind if we look around for a few minutes?" Hotch asked, and Morgan knew it was more for the benefit of getting a better idea of who Spencer was than Diana that the older agent wanted to stay.

"Sure. No problem." He gestured to one of the windows. "There's a garden outside." he offered helpfully.

Hotch nodded. "Why don't you check it out with him, J.J.?"

Readily complying, she went with Spencer back down the stairs and out, leaving Morgan and Hotch alone to consult one another freely as they investigated the house. Outside, J.J. marveled at the beautiful garden that lay before her; there was an array of carefully tended vegetable rows, split by a path from lush flowers growing on the other side. The vegetables themselves were just developing but the plants were lively. As for the flowers, they were arranged so each season would have its own bloom; the spring daffodils were open now, but the summer flowers wouldn't be far behind.

"It's beautiful." J.J. commended.

Spencer nodded sadly. "My mom loved planting things and watching them grow. When her symptoms got worse she stopped tending to it, but I kept it up as best I could so there'd be a way to coax her out of bed and out of the house every once in a while. A professional gardener takes care of it for me now."

_Again, honoring his mother..._

J.J. walked between the rows, touching the plants as she passed and appreciating their beauty despite the solemn circumstances. "He does a good job. Did you spend a lot of time out here with your mom?" she asked.

Spencer shrugged. "Some. I used to help her weed and trim the plants, pick the vegetables when they were ripe... On her good days, we'd come out to the garden and spend hours cultivating and tending to it, and I'd pretend that every day was like that." Spencer related, his joy mixed with deep sorrow.

J.J. turned to him and found herself looking into his bright brown eyes, made brighter by the radiant setting sunlight caught in his unshed tears. "Those memories... they're good to keep, and to share." she advised.

He laughed softly with irony. "I've told my patients the same thing."

J.J. understood. "But sometimes you still have to hear it yourself." She hesitated as her mind swept over the empty and lonely house, the truth of how alone he was too much not to be addressed. "You can talk to me, if you need to."

"Thanks." he smiled at her. "Maybe I'll take you up on that... sometime." They stood, staring at each other, eyes locked in silence. Finally and unexpectedly, he found himself opening up to her. "I miss her."

A tear slipped and J.J. brushed it away, resting her hand on his cheek. "You did the best you could for her. And you loved her." she reassured him. "All a mother really wants is to be loved and for her child to be happy. That's the best way you can honor her now."

Spencer nodded, his eyes meeting hers. "I know."

Suddenly, J.J. realized that a part of that unnamed longing she'd seen in his eyes before was for her, and she felt herself stiffen. She shouldn't still be touching him, lingering; she should have realized... But he was so sad and she hated to take away that comfort and she wondered frantically if that was all that motivated her? Panicking that she'd unintentionally crossed a professional boundary, she dropped her hand with almost a jerk and turned away, trying to make it seem casual. Yet, she caught a flash of disappoint wash Spencer's face for the briefest moment before it was pushed away, and they both returned their focus to the garden.

J.J. realized she should probably be asking Spencer about the people he had contact with, searching out how the UnSub might be inserting himself into his life, and she began to slowly question him about it, strolling about the garden with him at an easy gate. Yet, even as the warm sun beat down on them and Spencer answered every question without a hint of what she'd seen before, a tension that had not been there before remained, and J.J. forced herself not to think about why.

...

Inside the house from Spencer's bedroom, Morgan glanced down at the pair through the window, his stomach tight with worry. "There's a lot of guilt in this house." he admitted to Hotch, who stood behind him studying Spencer's bureau. Morgan looked at the photo album he'd pulled out- it was thin and nearly empty and most of the pictures were at least ten years old, save for a few more recent photos of Spencer at what appeared to be a comic convention. He stood with a group of young and middle-aged adults clad in Klingon, Vulcan, and robed costumes, a huge grin splitting his face with laughter, and Spencer himself was dressed as a Starfleet officer. All the same, the kid was notably younger and Morgan didn't doubt it was well before his mother's abduction.

"It's not uncommon for families to memorialize their loved ones in this manner, but I agree that it's a little extreme." Hotch said, a guarded note in his voice.

Morgan put the album back and turned to face him. "Spencer did say that he hated himself for putting his mother away." he countered, knowing where Hotch was going with this- because he was already there himself- and the thought made him internally recoil.

"Or he's compensating for killing her." Hotch postulated, meeting Morgan's gaze levelly. "The fact that he has FBI training and that Diana Reid was the _only_ victim without an underage child at the time of her death makes him suspicious, irregardless of the holes in the profile."

Regretfully, Morgan nodded. "Yeah, I know- we have to consider all the possibilities and we have to remain objective." He sighed. "But I just don't think the kid did it."

Hotch didn't say anything for a long minute, just stared at Morgan, and then he looked away to survey the room again. "Is he still outside with J.J.?" he asked, abruptly changing the topic.

Morgan glanced back and again saw Spencer and his friend below, clearly talking but the conversation was muted from here. "Yeah." he answered, regarding his superior again, only to find him walking out of the room.

"Good. Let's get a look at his medicine cabinet before he comes back." Hotch said, not brokering any argument.

Complying wordlessly- for one thing, Hotch was right, and for another it would do no good to object- Morgan followed the other man. They spent the next five minutes hurriedly examining both of the bathrooms and the kitchen for the anti-psychotic drugs that had been used in the killings, knowing even while they did that, even if they didn't find anything, Spencer's job still gave him access to any drugs he needed. Taking the opportunity, Hotch briefly examined the knives while he was in the kitchen, continuing to profile the man that lived there as Morgan formed his own opinions.

When the door to the backyard opened up, Morgan and Hotch had finished their search without discovering anything incriminating, much to the younger profiler's relief. Yet, as the four stood in the living room facing each other with a motley assortment of uneasy expressions, he was sure no one was going to be happy until this case was closed and the UnSub caught.

Morgan flashed J.J. playful grin, painting over his emotions. "So, how's the garden?"


	6. Revelation Reid

**Disclaimer-** see first chapter or profile.

**Author's Note-** I know this is a long chapter, but it has some valuable information in it, so I suggest not skimming through it- unless I'm really boring you! ;-D

**Chapter 6- Revelation Reid**

The team was back at headquarters, circling around the profile and the evidence tacked on the board. Everyone was seated at the long table, night having closed in and fatigue pulling at them, but Hotch wanted to do a final debrief before turning in. As it turned out, it had been worth the trip to go back to Piker Woods, Morgan discovering what had eluded them before.

"There's a bluff overlooking the gravesite," he reported, "and there's evidence that it's been used frequently to camp at."

"Whereas there were no such indications at the gravesite. Looks like the UnSub wants to be close to his victims but isn't comfortable beyond a certain proximity. CSI is combing over the area right now." Hotch continued, straightforward and eager to get through this as quickly as possible, although always careful to be thorough.

"We did realize, however," Morgan went on, "that the first victim was clothed in camping gear. Combined with the defensive wounds that weren't present on any of the other victims, it's likely the first murder wasn't premeditated. Based on the assumption that the first vic was abusing the UnSub, it may have even been an act of self-defense- or at least it started out that way."

"There's a lot of overkill on the first vic." J.J. supported.

Gideon nodded, subdued and contemplative. "A lot of rage- pent up, finally released. The first victim takes the UnSub up to Piker Woods to be alone, to do what he wants with him... the UnSub snaps and then afterwards..." Gideon shook his head, "he can't stop himself."

Hotch glanced at him for a second then looked down at the crime scene photos in front of him. "The UnSub appears to bury his victims without regard of clustering them together, only burying the married couples together because they were killed around the same time. The only exceptions are the three earliest victims, which were put into a single grave- perhaps because he was still evolving or because they represented the source of his hatred to him." he stated, moving on.

"Diana Reid, Libby Hart, and the first victim have the three traits that composite the chief attributes the UnSub targets in unfit parents; mental illness, alcoholism, and pedophilia." Morgan supported. "He was victimized by each defect in one way or another and, after killing them, he probably felt a sense of completion or a high that he couldn't turn his back on. The coroner estimates that the first killing took place two years earlier than the second and third ones and there was no lull after he started up again, so something must have triggered him."

"Loss of a loved one or a relationship, an injury or traumatic incident that caused him to flash back, or maybe seeing a child that reminded him of himself that he could tell was being abused; whatever it was stirred up indignation and a need for control that he'd only experienced when he killed his father." Prentiss elaborated confidently.

Gideon shook his head- not in contradiction, but to correct an assumption they weren't yet qualified to make. "The first victim may not necessarily be his father. It could have been a close associate or family member; someone that was an authority figure in his life but hurt him rather than protected him."

"You thinking like a teacher or an uncle?" Morgan asked, citing the most likely suspects.

Hotch lifted a speculative but approving eyebrow. "Irregardless of who the first victim was to the UnSub, there were at least three people abusing him as a child. He's isolated himself now for protection, but he's too emotional to break free of the past."

J.J. shook her head, confused at the conjecture. "Wait- how do we know there were three people abusing him? Couldn't one person have had two of the targeted defects?" she asked, looking around the room at the profilers.

"An alcoholic pedophile would make sense," Gideon answered, "but a mentally-ill alcoholic wouldn't. The first victim was one of the abusers, but the UnSub wouldn't have been compelled to bury Libby Hart with him if what she represented was already present at the grave. He needed to complete the set in order to have an emotional release."

Understanding, J.J. tried to figure out how that helped them. She was still working it out in her head when Morgan spoke up.

"Here's what I don't get," he interjected, "if the UnSub's targeting parents with mental conditions, then why didn't he kill Jane Evereski's husband along with her?"

It was a good point. "We interviewed her husband." Prentiss related to the team. "Adrian Evereski was diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome when he was twelve. It's a mild form of autism, but the UnSub should have viewed it as an inadequacy."

"Maybe he didn't know." Hotch guessed.

"No," Gideon shook his head, "not this UnSub. He's obsessed with his victims- particularly their children- and he's acutely aware of every facet of their lives. For some reason, he's sympathetic to Mr. Evereski."

The next question was obvious, and Morgan gestured with his hands. "Why?"

There was a moment of silence as the five pondered the possibilities without ever getting close enough to voice an opinion. There was no indication the Evereski's were in anyway linked to the UnSub, aside from the obvious, but perhaps there was something else about his life that had kept the UnSub from striking out at Adrian. Or, it could be the syndrome itself that was of special significance to him; if someone the UnSub knew had it that he liked or thought was a good parent, then it might explain the inconsistency.

Morgan's phone rang suddenly, breaking the silence, and he picked it up, wondering nervously what Garcia had uncovered for them. "Hey, baby doll. Working late, I see."

"Like you aren't?" she teased back. "Now, put me on speaker, Sweet Luscious Wonder!" she instructed him.

Complying, he extended his arm to the middle of the table so the others would be able to hear her better. There was no need for an explanation to the others or an introduction, and Garcia started without delay.

"Do you want to know what presents your magnificent queen of cyberspace brings for you today?" Not waiting for answer, she went on. "I did a background check on the victim's families for criminal records. Matthew Fairaway was arrested two months ago for assault with a deadly weapon. He got into a fight with a drunk man on the street, broke two of his fingers and was just about to take the man's broken beer bottle to him when the police arrived." Garcia's grin was audible as she continued. "Strong reaction, don't you think? So, I dug a little deeper and, as it turns out, the first Mrs. Fairaway had a little secret; in her autopsy report, the coroner found that she had severe liver damage- the kind someone gets from heavy drinking."

Hotch and Gideon looked at each other, sharing their surprise. "She was an alcoholic." the supervisor stated.

"A closet alcoholic," Garcia confirmed, "but an alcoholic nonetheless."

Hotch nodded, absorbing the information. "Thanks, Garcia. Good work."

It was the typical signal for dismissal, but Morgan wasn't quite done yet. "Hey, babe, what about the other thing I asked you to look into for me?" he quickly asked before she had time to disconnect.

"Yeah- _that's_ something else." she answered, and the tone of her voice gave away that it was going to be intriguing. "Spencer Reid didn't walk away from the FBI; he was _kicked out_."

Whatever Morgan had been expecting to hear, that wasn't it, and he was floored. "What for?" he demanded.

"Disorderly conduct." she replied. "At least that was the _official_ wrap. He was absent from classes for two days. When he showed up, he was covered in bruises and looked, quote: 'unhealthy'. They determined that he'd gotten into a drunken fight that went south. There were numerous witnesses of- let's just say- _uncertain_ credibility that put him at a local bar the night he went missing. The same witnesses claimed there were a couple of big guys that he wasn't getting along too well with and that Reid was boasting a lot about being in the academy. He left first and they followed a few minutes later- at least that's what the _report_ says." she told them, the inflections in her voice telling them she believed otherwise.

"You don't think that's what happened?" Hotch pressed.

"Hmm, that's not my job," Garcia cooed, still delighted by the mystery, "but I can tell you that Reid gave them an entirely different explanation- one of which there is very little mention in the report. He claimed that he'd been picked up by several of the cadets outside of a grocery store and taken to an abandoned house and assaulted. The claim was looked into but _not_ extensively; all of the cadets allegedly involved either alibied each other or had girlfriend's alibying them, there was no physical proof found in any of their cars- although Reid said it was a van, one that they probably either rented or borrowed from a friend- and the investigators were unable to examine the house he was held at because, interestingly if not suspiciously enough, it burned down the day _after_ Reid turned up. The cause was ruled as a gas leak, but I don't think anyone looked very deeply into it. With another explanation available for his absence and witnesses supporting his presence at a bar- something he denied vehemently- the investigation was closed and Reid summarily dismissed from the academy."

Garcia definitely hadn't let them down- this _was_ interesting, but Hotch had a feeling that there was more. "You said that the witnesses had 'uncertain credibility'- why?" he asked.

"On account that, roughly two months after their statements were given, there were significant and _matching_ deposits made to all of their bank accounts." she answered, well pleased with what she had found in her extra efforts and the yieldings of her 'spidey-sense'.

'Pleased' wasn't quite what any of the profilers in the Nevada police station were feeling right at the moment. "None of the investigators noticed?" Morgan wondered incredulously.

"The case was closed by the time the deposits were made. Like I said, they didn't look too long or hard into the allegations." Garcia replied.

Disturbed and upset at what was beginning to look suspiciously like a crime committed right under the FBIs nose, the team members glanced around to each other, unsure and some a little indignant at the possibility. Prentiss shook her head in bewilderment at Hotch. "Do you think they were trying to sweep it under the rug?" she questioned, gesturing with her palms.

Hotch lifted his eyebrows, growing more exhausted and suddenly not really wanting to think about it or the implications this late at night. "_Maybe_." The academy certainly wouldn't want to keep the matter open any longer than necessary, aware of how the negative publicity could hurt their influx of cadets- not mention the careers of the instructors- if it got into the public eye. One drunken disorderly cadet was far better than several malicious cadets assaulting one of their own.

"But something of this nature?" Morgan protested, less sure. "The kid deserved to have a thorough investigation, no matter what really happened! He was a _cadet_."

"And one of their best." Garcia added, again drawing the attention to her.

Hotch blinked. "What?"

With a breath, the blond technician's eyes roamed over the various screens and the information displayed in front of her. "Well, in terms of athleticism, he wasn't a star by any means, but academically-" her voice rose, her enthusiasm unmistakable, "he was _unbeatable_. The highest scores in over a decade. But _this_ is what's really going to get you so hold onto the seat of your pants, my lovelies; pending his completion at the academy and approval by the unit chief, Spencer Reid had been pre-assigned to join the BAU team under one _SSA_ _Aaron Hotchner!_" Garcia was just about gloating now, imaging the reactions of her teammates and their undoubtable expressions of shock and disbelief. _"Believe it!"_ she encouraged them.

For a minute, all Morgan could do was stare at his supervisor as if he knew something he didn't- which wasn't true- before he finally exhaled heavily, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. _The kid was supposed to be on their team?_ And if he'd been that accomplished in the academy, then why hadn't the instructors put up more of a struggle to keep him from being expelled?

"Alright. Well done, Garcia." Hotch broke the quiet at last, no one refuting her findings, and Morgan complied this time without argument and closed the phone, terminating the conversation. With a glance, it was clear no one was sure what to make of what they'd just learned, although Gideon seemed mostly fascinated by it rather than disturbed.

Face tightening, Morgan stood and pointed a finger at no one in particular- the rest of his hand still wrapped around his phone- and shook his head. "Something's messed up here!" he stated angrily, turning away to gather his stuff. Maybe Hotch hadn't dismissed them yet, but this day had been long enough for him.

No one voiced objection or offered insight into the matter- whether because they had none or they didn't feel like sharing it didn't matter- and they all rose one by one after Hotch, mutely relieved that at last they could return to their hotel rooms and their beds. Coats and files were gathered, empty paper cups were thrown away, but their minds were buzzing around the case.

"We're going to Quantico in the morning." Hotch instructed, looking across the table at Morgan until he'd caught the other man's eye, then his gaze flickered to the other three. "And you're going to talk to Matthew Fairaway again, as well as the arresting officer." he ordered them.

They nodded and Gideon spoke up. "In the meantime, I suggest we all try to get some rest."

Morgan couldn't help wondering if that meant he wasn't the only one this case was getting to. _Sixteen_ _dead..._ and an ex-FBI cadet mixed up in the middle of it? Was that coincidence or design? Dislodging the questions as best as he could although they refused to abandon him altogether, Morgan was the next one out of the office after Prentiss, the rest trailing at their own pace but all eager for the restoration of sleep.

...

The following afternoon, Hotch and Morgan were on the BAU jet, headed to Quantico. Back at the station, J.J., Prentiss, and Gideon had been working on the Fairaways. Matthew had been reinterviewed, as had Rachel, and the darkness of their past was obvious. Matthew had told them he'd been trying to stop the drunk man from driving himself home but the drunk had gotten angry with him and Matthew had lost his temper. In the scuffle, the bottle of beer that Matthew had taken from the drunk man was broken and the cops had simply come at the wrong moment. That was _his_ story, at least.

The arresting officer hadn't remembered too much about the insignificant incident and nothing really stood out about it to him; he and his partner had arrived on scene, broken up the fight, and both men had been arrested. The drunk had sputtered and acted belligerently about it but Matthew hadn't put up too much of a fuss, even if he was far from happy that he was being cuffed and loaded into the back of a police cruiser. _"He seemed kinda... I don't know, contrite maybe, I guess."_ That was the best they'd gotten out of the officer and, with plenty else to do, Gideon and the two women moved on, no one quite certain whether the arrest made Matthew look more or less suspicious and debating it as they drove in the car.

They'd spent the last couple of hours since calling or visiting the victims' families again to check for a way the UnSub might be contacting them. That, at least, had been refreshingly easy to discover; once a year on the anniversary of their parents' disappearances, the children would receive an anonymous gift- always tailored to the interests of the family- left at their door. Gideon concluded that since the UnSub wasn't giving them gifts with a personal meaning to him or that shared a common theme and that he instead focused on pleasing the children that it indicated the UnSub wasn't interesting in explaining himself, trusting that the children understood why he'd killed their parents and confident in their gratitude. It was notable that none of the gifts had ever been mailed- even to the people now living out of state- and Garcia was looking to see if they could identify any of the stores where the items were bought.

Busy with this, J.J. had still found the time to call Spencer after she'd realized he'd left his messenger bag in the SUV the day before. His car had been towed to a garage and he was waiting for it to be fixed but J.J. offered to swing by on her lunch break to give it to him, sure that there were important patient files and personal effects within. Spencer argued that he didn't want to distract her from the case or bother her with it- he could come and get the bag later- but she insisted, not voicing how useless she sometimes felt on the job or that she wasn't likely to be very occupied later in the day; Prentiss and Gideon were handling the profiling end of things well enough without her.

And so a time and place was agreed upon and J.J. hung up, her stomach tight with recollections of what had been revealed about Spencer the previous night and wondering what, if anything, Morgan and Hotch were uncovering now... They would call as soon as they were finished and update them, but it unsettled her as much as it did everyone else that an assault like that could happen involving FBI cadets. Once they knew the details of both allegations, would she feel any better for it, or worse?

It was a useless pondering and she shook it off, reasserting her attention on her work. The press release had gone well- something for which she could be grateful- and the media was more subdued than it had been since the team's arrival, the bullpen no longer overcrowded with eager reporters. They'd managed to gain some control over the mayhem and, at that particular moment, the station was almost peaceful... _Almost_.

J.J., Prentiss, and Gideon were once again out running interviews and working on the necessary background checks- something that was taking a regrettable amount of time.

"Gotta be grateful for AC.," Prentiss said as they stepped into a law office where one of the victims- Alan O'Malley- had worked, the blistering heat from outside left behind as cool air embraced them, "I can't imagine living here without it."

They flashed their badges to the receptionist behind her desk and they waited patiently as she phoned O'Malley's boss to come down and meet them. Leaning against the desk, Gideon's gaze swept around the room, taking in its shiny floors and pristine chairs, the highly polished wood and sparkling glass, and his eyes settled on a wall lined with photos of the firm's most respected lawyers. There were woman with curly hair and men with sharp, thin faces; there were partners whose hair had grayed with age and partners who had made it up the ladder early; there were dozens of faces with different appearances, ages, and races. O'Malley wasn't among them.

"O'Malley was a workaholic, trying to climb the corporate ladder. He was barely at home at all, so for him to catch the UnSub's eye may mean that O'Malley worked with or- rather- _for_ the UnSub as his attorney. It might be helpful to know the last cases O'Malley was working on." Gideon stated, already prepared to request the usually confidential documents. If there was more he was going to add to the other agents he didn't get the chance, turning back around instead as a man in his mid-forties and dressed in a crisp and precisely tailored suit approached them.

"Hello," he greeted them, sticking out a hand, "I'm Lucas Haayes, head of this branch..."

...

The jet landed on the asphalt, screeching and skidding to a loud halt. A minute later, Hotch and Morgan stepped out, descending the stairs and loading into the black sedan that awaited them. A driver would take them to the academy, so they both got into the back, enabling them to talk more privately, although they'd still be overheard.

Morgan shifted and maneuvered in his seat until he was comfortable, then regarded Hotch when they were both ready. "So, what do you think really happened?" he asked his supervisor, earnestly studying his expression for tells.

Hotch shook his head, melancholy as he glanced out the window at the familiar scenery passing them. "I don't know, but I suspect that Spencer's explanation wasn't a fabrication- at least not a total one. It would take extreme stress for him to become confrontational and I doubt very much that he'd ever deliberately goad a group of large men." the profiler answered.

"So if the other cadets _were_ responsible for what happened, how does that affect our case?" Morgan wondered.

"It might not." Hotch admitted. "But, on the other hand, if Spencer Reid isn't simply a victim's son, then it could provide additional motive or even fill in some of the gaps in the profile." he speculated, then looked at Morgan directly to explain himself. "The instructors definitely constitute authority figures."

Morgan's face was blank as they stared at each other, unable to refute that point but not agreeing with Hotch either; they'd taken opposite positions on the matter of Spencer and, however professional and open-minded both men were endeavoring to be, that wasn't likely to change until they had real cause to. "But the instructors didn't assault Spencer, the cadets did. And the instructors are still alive." Morgan countered evenly.

"True," Hotch consented, "but he could have viewed the instructors' failure to act on his behalf as condonation, making them even worse offenders than the cadets. And, as far as we know, only the first victim was one of the UnSub's abusers; the other two abusers may not have been touched- either because he's unable to get to them or because he's too afraid."

It fit, Morgan reluctantly admitted to himself, even though he was far from convinced of Spencer's guilt or involvement. Sighing, he looked out the window, letting his thoughts be carried away by the passing images. "What about Matthew?" he asked after a lull in the conversation. "Can't tell me he doesn't fit the bill, or that he wouldn't have extra motivation, knowing his stepmother was going after his little brother."

Hotch nodded, both men content not to look at each other at the moment and both too weary and wary to get worked up. "It's a definite possibility..." Again, some unvoiced doubt was audible but Morgan didn't care to seek his mind. "If the ID on the first vic doesn't come through in the next twenty-four hours, I think we should hold him and see if he can verify his whereabouts at the time of the abductions. Garcia's looking at his credit card history for purchases that match the gifts that the families were given and other suspicious activity."

That satisfied Morgan, even while he was sure Garcia was doing likewise with Spencer's credit card history and probably a few others'. That girl had to be loaded down... "If the UnSub used cash, we're not gonna find anything." he stated neutrally, regarding Hotch again.

Hotch sighed, eyes narrowing grimly and jaw set hard with determination. "He's been doing this for a long time; somewhere along the line, he made a mistake." he said with conviction, likewise glancing to his subordinate.

There was no challenge there, only the concern of whether or not they'd be able to find that mistake. Morgan could tell, however, that right now Hotch needed to be assured that he had his back and that their diverging views on the case hadn't splintered Morgan's trust in Hotch so much that he couldn't even take stock in that small assertion. Slowly, Morgan nodded. "Then we find it, and we use it to bring him down." he replied adamantly.

Their gazes remained locked for a minute more, old friends and colleagues studying each other and wordlessly reasserting the confidence that had built between them over the years, and finally Hotch looked away, his eyes on the stretching road ahead...

...

Morgan was rushed with familiarity as they walked down the halls of the academy. Some things had definitely changed since he'd been there, but others were exactly the same. The smells, for one thing; the air was still laced with the mixture of leather, rubber, sweat, and gunpowder, as well as the faint aroma of floor wax. He couldn't help peeking into the opened rooms as they passed. One or two were occupied by cadets and their instructors, but most were empty, awaiting use or recently vacated. Morgan could remember clearly his days at the academy, what every grueling second had been like and the friendships he'd made while there. His buddies had been mostly jocks, like himself, and he recalled with a twinge how they'd made fun of those less athletically disposed.

Of course, that had been a long time ago and Morgan had become a lot less arrogant and ignorant in the years since. Even back then, however, it had been partly peer pressure and diffidence that had motivated his sometimes unkind words and actions but, regardless, it didn't really make it any better. Morgan was simply glad that had been one of the things that _had_ changed for him.

Arriving at an office door- the name _Agent Lopez_ stenciled on the window- Hotch glanced at him and then knocked.

"Come in." a voice within beckoned.

Turning the handle, they opened the door, pausing for a moment in the threshold as Lopez registered them with some shock, likely expecting a wayward cadet or colleague. It was understandable, considering they hadn't phoned ahead to alert the academy or Lopez that they were coming. It had been done deliberately so that the instructors would be unprepared, just in case any of them had strong opinions about keeping Spencer's history there close to the chest, however unlikely that was; until they were sure exactly what had happened and how, they had to be cautious.

This instructor, at least, Morgan was sure they could trust and he smiled at her as her shock gave way to delight. "Derek Morgan! _Agent_, I should say!" she greeted, standing up and shaking his hand. "I wasn't expecting you."

"It was kind of last minute," Morgan explained apologetically, "and we were hoping to be discreet. This is my supervisor, SSA Aaron Hotchner." he introduced.

Hotch stepped forward and took Lopez's hand. "I'm sorry about the inconvenience and intrusion," he told her diplomatically, "but it was necessary."

Lopez nodded, catching their tones and body language, then addressed Morgan. "I take it this isn't a pleasure visit, then." she stated. Turning, she went back around her desk and sat.

As she straightened out the lines in her suit, Morgan confirmed her suspicions. "We've been working on a case in Nevada, but we came across something a bit unusual."

"Does the name 'Spencer Reid' ring any bells?" Hotch asked, face dark as it had ever been as he observed her response.

Lopez flushed with surprise, then gestured to the door. "Close the door, and have a seat."

Complying, they did as they were told and, a moment after they'd made themselves comfortable, the profilers were staring at the instructor across the desk. Lopez stared back, both parties trying to determine what the other was thinking and what they knew, and there was a long minute of silence as they waited to see who would go first.

Finally, Lopez shook her head. "I was wondering when that nightmare was going to come up again- or if it had just been forgotten." She looked bitter and disgusted.

Morgan smiled to himself; his old instructor was exactly the person they needed to be talking to.

"His file says he was expelled for disorderly conduct." Hotch prompted, letting her know they had some idea of what had happened.

Lopez sighed heavily- sadly. "How is he?"

Morgan hadn't been expecting that. "What?" he repeated dumbly.

"Reid, how is he?" she reiterated. "Is he okay?"

If she was still concerned after all this time, Hotch realized the truth of the matter had to be worse than they'd suspected. "He's holding up well enough; his mother was one the victims recently found in a string of serial killings, which is what brings us here." he explained.

Lopez paled, shaking her head in disbelief and regret. "Could anything else go wrong for that young man?" she muttered, more to herself than to the agents across from her.

Sitting up straighter, his interest peaked at this and Hotch leaned forward. "Ma'am, we've seen the reports and read his file, and I think it's pretty clear there was more to Spencer Reid's dismissal than a drunken brawl." he prompted once again, more boldly.

"You're right about that." Lopez agreed but didn't rush to extrapolate. "Academically, Reid was one of the most gifted and promising cadets to come through this academy in a long time- no offense, Morgan." she held up a hand.

Morgan waved it off. "None taken."

Aware that procrastinating wasn't going to make this any easier, Lopez reluctantly decided to get on with it. "When he didn't show up for class, I knew something was wrong, but it wasn't until two days later when we got a call from the hospital that I knew what it was." she recounted. "He'd been severely beaten, stripped, and abandoned in the middle of nowhere. He had five broken ribs, a concussion, a broken ankle, several missing teeth, and a toe had to be amputated from frostbite. The list goes on, but you get the idea."

Morgan and Hotch nodded, both realizing with hard stones in the pits of their stomachs that this had been no minor assault, as they'd first thought. Furrowing his brow, Morgan tried to picture Spencer like that...

Cocking her head, Lopez studied them critically with folded hands on top of the desk, her eyes severe as she went on with the story. "You already know what the report says, so I'm going to tell you what it _doesn't_ say." With that, she unlocked a drawer in her desk and pulled out a file from among its contents, placing it in front of the profiles. "This isn't the standard report; I added a lot of my own _unofficial_ documents."

Including pictures of Spencer, battered and lying in a hospital bed. So much for Morgan imagining it... In one close up of his face, one eye was swollen entirely shut, the other opened a slit, and his skin was mottled with bruises, unnatural hues and swelling marring his youthful features. He was almost unrecognizable... Swallowing, Morgan fought back the sickening feelings that rose inside of him.

"As I've said," Lopez continued, "Reid was at the top of his class academically, but he didn't fit in well with some of the other cadets, in particular with one by the name of Markus Ford and his friends. Some tension between them was noted in class by the instructors and myself, but it wasn't anything incriminating; geeks and jocks don't tend to mix very well, as I'm sure you know."

And they did, although Hotch personally had never belonged to either category, but anyone who'd been in high school knew all about social monarchies. It was clear where this was going, but they had to hear it all the same.

"On the night of January 15th, Reid was _allegedly-_" for all that she believed that it wasn't true- "attacked outside of a grocery store by Markus Ford and several other cadets. He was then bound, gagged, and thrown into the back of a van and driven six miles from the nearest heavily populated town to an old abandoned house, where he was sexually abused and beaten. When they were finished, they tied him to a metal pipe that ran _twelve feet_ into the ground and left him there naked." She paused, taking a deep breath and seeming drained.

"Did someone find him?" Morgan asked, horrified as he looked at the pictures and medical reports contained in the file.

Lopez shook her head. "Two days is how long it took for Reid to free himself and walk on a busted ankle to the nearest road- in the middle of _winter_- and flag down someone to help him, wearing nothing but the half-rotted clothes he'd found left over in the house." she told them, her anger and spite resounding in her words. There was no need to wonder the reason; with or without an affinity for the young cadet, what had been done to him by his peers was enough to boil anyone to indignance.

Morgan would have found it hard to believe Spencer could have endured so much if his years at the bureau hadn't taught him that, when pushed to the edge, people could do shocking things in order to survive. All the same, Morgan was aware that he'd yet again underestimated the young man.

"What did Ford plan to do when Reid showed up?" Hotch inquired, silently appalled at what he was learning.

Lopez snorted a dry, humorless laugh. "Ford never had any intention of Reid showing up. Take another look at that medical report;" she shook her head vehemently in disgust, "he was never meant to survive. And, if Reid had been any less resourceful or determined, he _would_ have died the painful and humiliating death Markus Ford intended!"

Morgan was surprised by the strength and bluntness of her accusations but he quickly realized this was something she'd been carrying around for a long time, pent up and with no means of release. Until now.

"So you're saying they tried to kill him and they just got away with it?" Hotch verified, stunned and repulsed by the notion- a notion that was seeming more and more likely to be accurate.

Lopez nodded. "Agent Harold Ford- Markus' father, who happened to be one of the instructors here at the time- made sure of that. He started a smear campaign, saying that Reid was unstable, prone to trouble, and a compulsive liar- anything to discredit him. And, after Reid named his son and the other cadets as the perpetrators, things only got worse. Harold insisted that doing a full-out investigation into the 'preposterous' claims would only damage the academy with negative publicity and he did everything he could to close the investigation as quickly as possible." she said, and Morgan grimaced.

_Now an agent was involved..._

"But they _did_ do an investigation?" Hotch pressed firmly, his dark eyes on hers, needing to know the FBI had at least done that much.

"_Yes._ For all the good that did." She again sighed and sagged a little. "As you've read in the report, witnesses claiming Reid was inebriated at a bar and actively provoking a group of men all but brought the investigation to a premature end. The agents working the case tried to find the men in question but were unable to and, without Reid's cooperation, as soon as it was decided that they didn't have the physical evidence to warrant further search into his allegations against the cadets, the case was closed. It wasn't their fault so much as it was unfavorable circumstances; Ford and all of the cadets had managed to procure alibis for themselves, paid off people to say the right things to the investigators, and destroyed any evidence linking them to Reid."

Sadly, it _was_ understandable how easily Ford had gotten away with what he'd done, but it was still an atrocity. "Did any of the instructors believe Reid's side of the story?" Morgan asked, looking at his old mentor once again.

"Most of us, in fact." Lopez confirmed.

Morgan shook his head in confusion. "Then how did he get expelled?"

For the first time, the Hispanic agent hesitated, glancing out the window through the blinds, as if suddenly nervous about being overheard. Finally, she regarded them again, shaking off whatever had passed over her. "The majority of us would have been happy to turn the other cheek on Reid's _supposed_ indiscretion, but Agent Ford wasn't satisfied with that and kept pressing for a review and, more pointedly, to get Reid expelled. Ford didn't have that much sway over the internal functions of the academy but-" she sighed, "I believe he found some way to get to Agent Sorinski- the one agent with the position and authority to turn the tide. I assumed blackmail, but I never knew for sure or what it was, only that Sorinski had been a supporter of Reid until he quite suddenly changed his mind. _He_ stated that they needed to make an example and that we couldn't let the cadets start to think they could do whatever they wanted; we had _standards_ to uphold." she practically spat the words, venom dripping from her voice and dark lightening in her glare.

Morgan looked down at the pictures of Spencer, black and blued and disfigured by swelling, and shook his head ruefully with disdain. "So, not only did the kid not get justice, but he got _punished_ for it!" He tossed the picture onto the desk, unable to look at it any longer. His hands balled into tight fists on his lap and he had to fight the urge to punch a wall.

Lopez nodded, her eyes heavy with tears; gone was the anger and bitterness and in its place was left only deep sorrow and a long-learned control. "_Yes._" she replied, almost a whisper yet with a wealth of power, eyebrows rising briefly.

Hotch glanced from the folder in his hands to her, the cruel events weighing on him as much as Morgan but far less obviously and with a slightly different focus; as a human being to another it troubled him, of course, but as an agent in regards to a former cadet, it was heinous. "The case was closed, and yet you still made this file?" he asked softly, reaching for the only good he could readily see in the whole mess.

"I couldn't let it go." Lopez admitted. "Unofficial or not, I did my own investigation, filed my own reports, and took Reid's full statement down in writing. Even if nothing ever came of it, I wanted some proof that showed that night really happened and that Markus Ford was the one responsible for it. I didn't turn up much more than the initial investigators, but my record is more thorough."

Morgan had to admire the effort she'd made and the devotion to Reid's case that had carried through the years. "You hoped your work might be of use later on, when Ford's true colors came out again." he concluded.

"That file has been sitting in my desk for the past five years, it's about time somebody knew the truth." she agreed with a nod.

There was still one thing Hotch didn't understand. "How did Ford pass the psych evaluations? These kinds of sadistic leanings should have been evident in the testing." he pointed out.

Lopez smiled wryly. "That's another benefit to having a veteran father who knows the ropes and can... _give helpful tips_. Not that I'm saying Harold knew the true nature of his son but... it's hard to resist looking after the interests of one's children." she explained, for once giving the elder Ford some benefit of doubt. Even so, it far from removed him of culpability for helping cover up the assault.

"Do you mind if we take this?" Hotch inquired, closing the file.

Lopez nodded. "That's just a copy. I have the original in a safe place." she assured them.

Rising from their seats, Hotch extended his hand to the instructor once more, shaking it firmly but with noticeable warmth. "Thank you for all your help, Agent Lopez."

She smiled, but it was bittersweet. "I only wish I could have been of more help." That she was speaking of Reid and the nightmare he'd been through so many years ago was easy to tell.

"We'll do everything we can to help Spencer and bring the UnSub in." Morgan promised her, taking her hand as well.

"I know you will." she replied confidently, eyes meeting her former student's fondly.

They turned and left, walking back down the halls they'd passed through only minutes before and that Morgan remembered so clearly. Yet, they no longer looked the same to him, clouded by the visions of an even younger Spencer Reid doing the exercises and drills, being taunted by Ford while no one was looking, and finally that terrible night... Morgan knew that in any organization, there were inevitably less than stellar examples of humanity and that was just the way it was but, all the same, it made him sick to think of what had happened.

His jaw set into a hardened line and his fists remained tight by his sides as the coal of hot ire burned within him.

**Please review! Please review! Please review! (And I hope no one was offended at this plot device.)**


	7. Closing In

**Disclaimer-** see first chapter or profile.

**Author's Note-** This chapter in part explores some of the differences between this reality and the series, which is one of the things I set out to do in this story but haven't done in anything but subtle ways. My intention isn't to say that one reality is better than the other, but just to offer some food for thought, should anyone be so philosophical! On another note- I can't believe how much of this I'm re-writing! I expected to make some alterations when I typed this up from my notebook, but the last couple of chapters have had significant departures and add-ins, to the point I've been doing little copying and mostly reworking. Still, the plot remains unaltered (aside from dramatically reducing the J.J./Reid ship which was originally quite strong) but I hope everyone is happy with the end result. (Okay, realistically, it's impossible for _everyone_ to be happy, but I'll settle for the vast majority!)

**Chapter 7- Closing In**

J.J. had managed to be only _slightly_ late for her rendezvous with Spencer, tidying up last minute things before stepping out for her lunch break and to give back the messenger bag left in the SUV. She'd arrived at the garage to find Spencer flipping through a book with apparent disinterest, barely more than glancing at a page before he turned it, and she'd greeted him with professional warmth. He'd stood from his chair then and accepted his property, reiterating his gratitude. J.J. had brushed it off and they'd talked for a few minutes afterwards, mostly about the case, which J.J. could say very little about, yet she offered encouragement and hope. Although she'd been somewhat tense when she'd first come- remembering what she thought she'd seen in his eyes the last time they were together- she relaxed when she detected no hint of it in their conversation, and J.J. became more and more convinced that she'd been mistaken. And even if she hadn't been, then it was surely nothing but transference and, as a psychologist, Spencer was likely well aware of that.

All the same, J.J. was mindful of her behavior, not wanting to accidentally send out the wrong signals. As a means to repay her for coming down, Spencer offered to buy her lunch- something she initially refused but eventually relented to, perceiving that the gesture was innocent. They walked rather than drove to a nearby taco stand- J.J.'s choice- and sat down in the sunshine on some benches to eat. For a moment, J.J. closed her eyes, soaking in the warmth and gentle breeze and letting the cares of the case be carried away with it, but then she'd all too quickly remembered she was still with a victim's son and this was no time for her own indulgent relaxation.

With a glance at Spencer, she could tell it was killing him not to be pouring out questions and thoughts about the case, but he was restraining himself, well aware that she'd already divulged everything she could to him. He bit his burrito and chewed quietly but his mind was obviously restless as he looked down at the paper-wrapped food in his hands.

"Did you like growing up here?" J.J. asked conversationally, attempting to turn his focus aside.

Spencer shrugged a little. "Well, it was never dull." he smiled weakly. "The high-rate of tourists- over 44 million a year- meant there were always interesting people to meet, but I was usually too busy to get out to the city." he explained.

"Still, Vegas..." J.J. prodded with a gentle grin.

His own increased slightly and he finally nodded, bashfully admitting he'd had a few experiences. "Y-_yeah_." It was clear he wasn't going to extrapolate but J.J. satisfied herself that- even if only for a moment- she'd gotten his attention off from his mother.

"Can I ask you something?" Spencer inquired, solemn again.

J.J. hesitated; if it was about the case, then she might not be able to answer and if it was personal she _shouldn't_. "Sure." she replied at last, deciding that, if nothing else, she could dismiss the question. He'd shown before that understood about disclosure and J.J. had no reason to believe that would change.

"Your team," he began, "it's smaller than most, isn't it? BAU teams are usually composited of more agents, but there's only five people on yours."

"Six." J.J. corrected and, seeing his confusion, went on. "Our technical analyst is back at Quantico, working from there. Garcia doesn't get out from behind her desk very much." she added, not wanting him to think her physical absence was indifference to the case.

Spencer nodded and was silent.

For some reason, that unnerved J.J. and she unexpectedly found herself divulging more. "But, you're right; our team usually has seven agents. However, one of them was recently killed in the field." she told him, a deep twinge of pain and old horror flickering through her at the memory.

"I'm sorry." Spencer apologized.

J.J.'s first thought was that _he_ shouldn't be feeling sorry for _her_ with what he was going through right now, but then, after a second, realized it was a good thing she was sharing this with him; it would help him to know he wasn't alone in his grief and it would also deepen Spencer's trust in the team. Smiling sadly, she decided to go on for just that reason. "We were working a case in Georgia where an UnSub with DID was murdering people for their sins and posting them online." J.J. began to explain, her chest tightening with every word, though she fought it. "Elle and I were sent to interview someone that had reported a prowler, not realizing he was the UnSub... Elle was caught and held in a shack for two days before he finally killed her, playing Russian roulette." she told him, her voice restricting with the pain and guilt.

Because she knew it was her fault.

No matter what anyone said, she'd made a mistake when she'd gone into the barn with the dogs instead of backing up Elle when she'd called. And, for that mistake, not only had J.J. nearly been eaten alive, but Elle had been tortured and drugged and dragged through a nightmare before she was murdered... on the monitors in front of them all, so close, and yet so far away.

"I think I remember seeing something about that on the news- Greenway, right?" Spencer asked nervously, and she confirmed it with a nod, Spencer's sympathetic eyes on her as she battled against the hailstorm of emotions that arose with the retelling. "It was two weeks after that the UnSub- Tobias Hankel- was caught, and by then twelve more people had been killed." he finished, still soft and tentative on what was obviously a delicate topic.

Those twelve lives were on J.J., too, she knew- although perhaps not as prominently or pointedly as Elle's. Still, if she hadn't screwed up, who knew how things might have turned out differently? "He tried to make Elle choose one to die, and he'd choose one to live, but she refused." she spoke of her lost friend. "She was undaunted, like fire, and the harder he came at her the more determined she was. But, beneath it... I know she was terrified." Her praise was tinged with grief, remembering the way Elle had yelled and boldly faced her persecutor.

Softly, staring down at the ground, J.J. added, "He killed them all- the people he was trying to make her pick from. Hankel slaughtering them was one of the last things Elle saw."

J.J. had fallen into a reverie now and didn't notice how uncomfortable Spencer had become, wanting to console her but not knowing how. This was a long ways from group therapy over missing loved ones and, even then, he never dealt with them one-on-one. Spencer shifted, glancing around the park at the multitude of people passing them, then down at the blond agent.

"In my experience," Spencer began hesitantly, "individuals facing mortal peril don't reflect as much on recent events- which they haven't yet had time to process- as they do on their loved ones and the things they care about the most." he offered supportively.

Her eyes flicked up and met his, the sudden realization she'd become unprofessional in the depth of her story and her emotions overwhelmed by the kindness in his sad brown eyes. It should be the other way around, she thought, J.J. encouraging Spencer, but his words weighed on her and she couldn't help but wonder at the truth of them. Had Elle thought of her family and of summer vacations instead of Hankel and the cold shack while he'd held the gun to her head?...

"I hope so." J.J. stated, wishing it might be so and grateful to Spencer for giving her even that small possibility to hold onto. Maybe it was a bit unprofessional, but it was still good to be able to talk about Elle with someone, never quite at ease bringing up what happened in Georgia with her team. Her guilt made her wary of their silent judgment, unsure if any of them really blamed her for Elle's death, but she blamed herself and that was enough.

Shoving the unrelenting and unwanted thoughts aside, J.J. straightened a little, knowing this wasn't the time for this or the right person to be talking to, no matter how much she wanted to. "I'm sorry for bringing that down on you- I shouldn't have done that." she apologized.

Spencer shook his head. "No, don't be."

J.J. smiled with a gentle sigh. "Thanks for listening." She stared at him for a minute, wordlessly conveying her appreciation while searching for an indication he disapproved of her lack of professionalism or that his confidence had in any way been shaken. Seeing neither but instead only pity and understanding, J.J. forced herself to glance away, down at her food, then shifted in her place. "How's your burrito?" she asked, switching topics.

Not anticipating the question, Spencer's face flashed with surprise. "Oh- uh, good. It's not really what I meant when I said I could buy you lunch; I could have at least taken you to some place with _walls_." he replied, a bit flustered.

"It was my choice." she reminded, dismissing his chagrin with a warm smile.

Spencer relaxed a little, then turned suddenly, putting his food down on the bench and pulling something out of his messenger bag. It was a piece of paper and a pen. "Do you see those statues over there?" he asked off-handedly, pointing to a rather bizarre collection of stone figures.

J.J. nodded, not sure where this was going. "Yeah." She looked back to Spencer and found he was drawing wildly. As he continued, he started telling her about their history, who they represented and the artists who'd sculpted them, going on rapidly about anything remotely linked to them. Although it wasn't particularly fascinating, somehow Spencer still made it amusing.

Finally, he held up the finished drawing- the face of one of the statues- and J.J. had to laugh at his unique style. It wasn't an exact likeness but, rather, almost a demented caricature. Yet- peering deeper at it- J.J. saw that the face was actually quite friendly. It brought a wave of warmth to her and she mused that it was it fitting that a profiler- or even a near-profiler- should see the world that way.

She started with a jolt of surprise when Spencer suddenly pierced the drawing's eye with the pen. "What are you doing?" she asked, confused as she watched him.

But Spencer ignored her question and continued to relate facts about the statues, all the while working the pencil and piece of paper. "Once a year for a week, the statues get painted by a specially selected artist," he rotated the paper carefully and pulled the pen an inch to the side, then back again, "using non-stick paints that can easily be removed, and the artist expresses their creativity and individuality on them, sharing their message with the world. The youngest ever chosen was sixteen, but his work drew the largest crowd." Again, he rotated the paper and maneuvered the pen. J.J. could see the tip of it sticking out the other side of the paper and, although she was barely listening to him, she wondered if the story had any significance to whatever it was he was doing now.

"Then, after the week is over, the paint gets removed and the statues are polished up like new- like it was never there." he concluded, pulling the pen sidewise completely out of the paper and revealing that it was- inexplicably- entirely intact.

J.J. gaped. "How'd you do that?" she marveled, grinning in shocked delight.

Spencer handed her both the paper and the pen for her inspection, pleased with her response. "A magician never reveals his secrets." he replied with a small smile.

J.J. turned the paper over, tested the tip of the pen, but found nothing out of the ordinary in either. Clearly, she _wasn't_ going to figure this one out. "That was amazing." she applauded, returning her gaze to him, her guilt and pain over Elle's death momentarily forgotten. He smiled back at her and only then did it occur to her that it had been his intent to distract her. And maybe, she hoped, it had helped him focus on happier things, too.

Gratitude washed J.J. as she stared at him, the sun dazzling down and her heart made lighter for the gift of a mystery that wasn't rooted in death and despair and the worst imaginings of humanity. However briefly, the world was a little simpler and those terrible things a little further away, and J.J. was suddenly glad it was her team that had been given this case; this case was _important_, in a way that few were, even though she couldn't exactly explain why.

Spencer looked away and J.J. lifted her taco, returning her attention to her meal and biting it as Spencer did likewise with his burrito. A huge gob of the stuffing came out of the bottom of it, landing on his leg, and J.J. laughed. The shock giving way to embarrassed amusement, he chuckled too as he flushed, and J.J. pulled out a napkin, wiping the mess off from his leg.

...

"I can't believe something like that happened at the academy." Morgan wondered aloud, sitting in the plane across from Hotch. Outside, the world passed below through the clouds, seeming small and vast in the same instant.

Hotch sighed sadly, sharing his subordinate's disbelief but more reserved about it. "If you look hard enough, corruption can be found just about anywhere. But there are some places it _shouldn't_ be- more so than others." he agreed.

It was true the academy and the people in it weren't infallible- or that what Spencer had gone through wasn't entirely their fault- but it didn't make it any better. Morgan had found a sense of completion and empowerment he'd never known before when he'd joined Aaron's team, at last able to help stop some of the terrible things that happened in the world and make things a little better for those that had been ravaged and scarred by such evil. Yet it had happened again, right on the FBI's doorstep, and there was no way to drive out the sourness Morgan felt at that.

Again, protectiveness for Spencer flared up in him and he remembered the promise he'd made to Lopez to bring in the UnSub that had murdered Diana Reid. In the very least, Morgan was determined to do that much for the young man. It just seemed wrong that he couldn't do more.

Restless, Morgan fished out his phone, dialing Garcia's number.

"Sparkling diamond of the FBI! How may I brighten your day?" she greeted, instantly putting a small smile on Morgan's face.

"Hearing your sweet voice is enough, sugar!" he replied with flattery.

"Oh, you say that, but you know you want more!" Garcia said.

Morgan chuckled softly. Sobering after a moment, he reluctantly got to the business end of things. "How's it coming on the credit card histories?"

"Like every shopaholic's wish list." she answered, not overly disappointed at the topic change. "The Fairaways have a lot of charges and most of it's all play- big screen TVs, gaming systems, trips to tropical islands- you get the idea. Reid and the others are a bit more conservative, but no matches have come across my search, although it's still ongoing. This is going to take a while, even with _my_ programs!"

"If there's anything to find, you will." he stated confidently. "Did you discover anything else about Spencer?" he asked, even while what _he'd_ learned replayed in the back of his mind.

"Nothing huge," she said, "but I did get a little more on his background, and I tell you- the guy is _smart._"

"Smart?" Morgan repeated.

Garcia glanced at the information on her screens, eyes wide at it all. "_Smart_- as in he could go toe-to-toe with Einstein and mop the floor with his crazy big hair." she confirmed. "He has an IQ of 187 and, by the time he was twenty-one, had _three_ PhDs."

Morgan had figured out pretty early on that Spencer was no dummy, but he was surprised to learn that the kid was actually a _genius._ "You're kidding me. What were the PhDs in?" he pressed, curious.

"Chemistry, engineering, and mathematics." she listed off. "If you ask me, he wanted to fly to the moon and never come back! However, despite getting a plethora of prestigious job offers- including one from NASA- he turned them all down because he was planning on joining the FBI. After thatfell through, he did accept one but quit a few years later after earning a_ fourth_ PhD in psychology. He then moved back to Nevada to be closer to his mother."

_Who was subsequently kidnapped and murdered..._

"Garcia, has anyone ever told you that you're priceless?" Morgan asked, pleased with her findings.

Garcia smiled. "Every day, but it never hurts to hear it again!" she replied unhesitantly, basking in his adoration.

"Do you think you could squeeze something else in for me?" Morgan petitioned, aware they'd been keeping her excessively busy, but this was important.

"Now you're not doubting my abilities, are you?" Garcia warned playfully.

"Of course not, sugar!" Morgan assured. Going on, he briefly told her about the assault and then read off the names of the cadets _allegedly_ involved. "Keep your focus on the credit cards but, whenever you have time, if you can look up the cadets and see what they're doin' now that'd great."

"Sure thing." Even as she spoke, she was already on it, typing on her keyboard, and the clacking and clicking traveled through the phone. "Now scram- your Cyber-Wonder has work to do!"

With a smile, Morgan thanked her and closed the phone. With the loss of that connection, reality came back, hitting him hard as his gaze fell on Hotch's stony and pensive face, the older agent looking through the folder Lopez had given them. Morgan's smile fell, silently reading the other man's thoughts, and his cheer likewise faded as the darkness reclaimed the cabin. He knew as well as Hotch did that, the worse Spencer's life was, the more reason they had to be concerned and consider him a suspect. Still, Morgan didn't think it was him; he couldn't really say why- they saw UnSubs all the time that were neither malicious nor evil-hearted, just simply broken- but he couldn't reconcile himself to the mental image of Spencer butchering sixteen people.

But, of course, their priority was to bring in the UnSub, whoever it was, and to do that he needed to keep an open mind. Any lead was a good one, including one that pointed to the ex-cadet. Sighing heavily, Morgan glanced out the window, reflecting that the case against him just kept getting worse and worse and Morgan was disheartened to have to consider that Spencer could be at the end of all this; angry, hurt, vengeful, trying desperately to make the world a better place the only way he felt he could and struggling fruitlessly to overcome the pain and wounds that had scarred him, justice having failed him one too many times...

Closing his eyes, Morgan hoped that wasn't how this was going to go down.

"We're going to be landing in fifteen minutes." Hotch announced suddenly, breaking the silence. Morgan looked up to find the older agent still thumbing through the documents, eyes fixed on the papers as he continued evenly. "You should call the team and let them know." he advised.

_Right;_ in case anyone was out doing interviews or background checks, they were going to have to regroup at the station.

Mutely, Morgan pulled out his phone again, this time with much less enthusiasm, and punched up Gideon's number, a heavy sigh rolling out...

...

Rachel stepped into the living room, placing Matt's lemonade down on the coffee table. Sitting on the couch, she glanced out the doors to the backyard, the yellow sunlight falling across the grass as it rippled in the wind. She drew a deep breath, tired and confused, her emotions a twisted knot in her chest.

"Do you think they deserved it?" she asked her brother, still gazing out the doors.

Matthew shrugged. "I'm not sorry that she's gone."

Rachel faced him, tears shimmering in her eyes. "What about dad?"

Matthew sighed, irritation rising. "He wasn't a father. He didn't care enough to save mom or stop Tara from hurting us." he retorted bitterly.

"I know... but it wasn't completely his fault." Rachel pointed out. "He needed help-"

"Well, he got it!" Matthew snarled, cutting her off.

Rachel stared at her brother in shock, his vehemence catching her off-guard, but there was an underlying sadness in her eyes, knowing where it had come from and what he'd suffered at Tara's hand. Their family hadn't ever really been happy- at least not that Rachel could recall. Even before their mom died, their parents had argued violently on too many occasions to count, their mother getting drunk and hitting their dad- or even them, sometimes. And their dad, a soft-spoken and tenderhearted man, couldn't deal with even the notion of life without his wife, despite the hardships and arguments. When she'd been killed in the burglary, he'd been destroyed.

Reaching out to Tara had only been a way to try to forget the pain of losing her for one brief moment- she'd never been anything to him.

"Do you think they'll find who killed them?" Rachel broke the silence after a long minute.

Matthew glared. "_Why?_ Why do you even care! Even if they do, all they'll do is lock him in a cell and throw away the key- it won't change anything! One more _criminal_ thrown away, a million more to go! _Congratulations!_"

Rachel stared at him as he stood suddenly. "Matthew, what's gotten into you? I've never seen you like this..." she demanded worriedly, trying to figure out his mind as she searched his eyes. "You don't actually think we have something to thank him for, do you?" she asked, horrified at the suggestion.

Matthew snorted. "_Actually-_"

"Don't!" Rachel snapped in horror, stopping him. "Don't you even say it; it's _not_ true!" She had risen as well and now her brother took a step towards her, unblinking as he stared down at her, inches from her face.

"It wasn't _you_, Rachel! You're not the one that Tara hurt; it was _me_ and it was _Jack._ For all of the things I've told you, you still can't imagine the half of it, so don't lecture me!" he yelled at her, tears falling free through the fire and pain. Then, collecting himself but his emotions still close to the surface, he continued in a near but chilling whisper. "Tara can _rot_, but I, for one, won't mourn her."

Rachel, who rarely saw her brother speak out about the terrors of the past or how it haunted him, looked up at Matthew with deep pity and sorrow. She reached out to touch him but he pulled back from her, turning around and grabbing his keys off the table.

"Where are you going?"

"I'll be back in a while." Matthew evaded her question, striding to the door.

Following hurriedly, Rachel called after him. "Matthew! _Matthew!_" He didn't respond, even when Jack came running down the stairs to her side. Walking out, Matthew slammed the door behind him, leaving an upset Rachel and confused Jack staring at the door in his wake.

Jack turned his head, gazing up at his older sister. "Is Matty okay?" his small voice asked.

Sighing, she ran a hand through his hair and down to his back, rubbing it, and forced herself to trust in Matthew, that he would get through whatever was troubling him. "He will be, honey."

Turning, she led him back to the living room, hoping it was true.

...

"I used get these letters every so often as kid, anonymous and unaddressed," Spencer related with a small smile, "and it was kind of like this neat little mystery. I figured they probably came from one of my teachers or maybe as a joke from one of the kids at school, but they oozed with pride and adoration and- regardless of who they came from or why- it was kind of nice." he admitted, glancing at J.J. as they walked back to the garage, having finished their lunch.

It made her happy to hear some lightness in his voice. "So you never found out who it was?" she asked.

Spencer shook his head. "I never really wanted to."

_He didn't want to be disappointed..._ Still, it was a good memory for him and she left it at that. "We hope to have the first vic IDed soon, and that should help move the investigation along." she told him, figuring that bit of information couldn't really hurt but might at least reassure him they were making progress.

Spencer was thoughtful as they ambled on. "So- you believe the UnSub knew the first victim?" he deduced.

J.J. hadn't intended to inform him of that, but it was too late now. "There are some indications he might have, but we won't really know for sure until we get an ID." she answered. Stopping as they arrived at her car outside of the garage, the two turned to each other.

Spencer rocked on his heels. "I want to thank you again for what you're doing- even if you don't catch the UnSub-" something like deep pain and discomfort flashed across his expression at that before he pushed it off, finishing with sincerity reflected in his eyes, "I appreciate all you being here and trying."

J.J. smiled and briefly gave his arm a gentle, encouraging squeeze. "I can't make any promises, but we'll do our best."

He nodded his understanding and her hand dropped, returning to her side.

Turning around, she fished her keys out of her purse, locating them just as her phone rang. She picked it up, unlocking her door as she greeted the person on the other end. "Hey, you back from Quantico yet?" she asked. Getting into the car, she missed the shock and mortification that fell over Spencer's face, his features paling and his mouth gaping open slightly.

The door closed, blocking the conversation off from him, and the roar of the engine filled the air as she started the car and buckled. A minute later, J.J. pulled away and headed back to the station, leaving Spencer staring after her, his palms sweaty and his heart racing.

...

Prentiss, Gideon, and J.J. were gathered around the table studying the case files when the door to the office opened and admitted the remaining members of their team, both men grim and unhappy, although they were attempting to hide it. "Hey, look who's back!" Prentiss greeted warmly- if not curious about what they'd learned. Neither Morgan nor Hotch reacted much to her, coming in and taking their places at the table, but she noted the folder tucked under Hotch's arm. "How'd it go?"

"We were right to look into it." Hotch said, adjusting his seat. "Instructor Lopez was very forthcoming with the events at the academy, and the assault was no minor matter."

"By all indications, Spencer wasn't at fault for what happened and the instructors knew it, but they just couldn't prove it." Morgan added.

Gideon nodded toward the folder. "What's in the file?"

"Lopez's documents of the assault. We'll discuss it in a minute, but first," Hotch directed the debrief, smoothly and rapidly moving things along, "were you able to get O'Malley's client list?"

Emily pulled it out from among the papers she had and handed it to the older agent. "His branch head wasn't particularly happy about it, but nothing trumps a warrant." she said. "O'Malley handled a number of clients throughout the years but, of those that fit the age and sex of our UnSub, there are only four. Garcia's checking them out now."

Hotch took the list, examining it for a minute before giving it back to her. "Did you learn anything else of significance?" he asked.

Gideon began to relate to them what little they had found in their absence and then the debriefing switched back to Hotch and Morgan, the two agents taking turns at revealing what had happened to Spencer at the academy. Faces darkened and stomachs tightened as they listened and studied the folder's contents, asking questions intermittently when there was a need and staring at the pictures that showed the extent of the young man's injuries. J.J. was surprised that she hadn't seen any of that history there in Spencer's eyes or that there hadn't been any bitterness in his voice when they'd talked. The personal connection she'd made with him riddled her thoughts with anxiousness and pitted her with horror as she listened, the meeting continuing on without hindrance. With a quick glance to Morgan- his dark gaze downcast and his jaw flexed- she knew that she wasn't the only one.

...

_No! This isn't supposed to be happening! _the UnSub screamed to bodies- his precious graveyard- was his and _his_ alone, not meant to be found by anyone, least of all that _camper!_ And now the FBI were here, sniffing around, finding out things no one had the right to, ruining everything... and then they would take away the one person that was truly his and they would never understand why he had done it all, would refuse to look at him and instead cruelly despise him!

He screamed, kicking a chair and knocking it over. It didn't make it any better. _Think! _he yelled at himself. He had to do something, had to stop them somehow...

A wretched sob tore out of him; he'd been so close! After so long, so many years of patiently waiting and carefully planning, it had almost been time, his time for completion... But then they'd stepped in and messed everything up! It was their fault!

And worst yet... they were digging. Secrets never meant for the light of day were being unearthed and soon the truth would be discovered, and his beloved would know._ He_ was supposed to tell, to explain it all- not _them!_ How could his tenderhearted and compassionate one understand if he didn't get the chance to tell them?

He ran his hands through his hair, knotting his fingers in the long tresses and pulling as hot tears raced down his cheeks, choking on his outcries. Just when he'd been so close to happiness, to sailing off into the beautiful future, now it was being ripped away!.. He grabbed a lamp and hurled it across the room, the ceramic smashing against the wall.

_No!_ They couldn't take that from him- he wouldn't_ let_ them!

...

"His gravesite's been found and he knows we're looking for him. He might skip town and start up again somewhere else." Morgan put forth, the debriefing portion of the meeting over and the profilers once again collaborating.

"Or he could be gone already." Prentiss added. "We know this guy doesn't have a whole lot of confidence."

"True," Gideon agreed, "but he _is_ a mission-based killer; if he doesn't feel that his mission is complete here, then he won't go anywhere."

Morgan shook his head. "What would compel him to stay? Anywhere you go, you can find unfit parents and pedophiles." he argued, standing by the board where their collective information and evidence was tacked.

He certainly had a point there but, glancing up at him over his shoulder from his seat, Gideon raised his eyebrows. "His entire life is here. As emotional as this UnSub is, even if he's planning on running, he has to take care of his loose ends; confront friends or family- anyone that he hasn't yet- that had a devastating impact on his life." he stated with certainty.

"The bodies were found almost a week ago- if he hasn't left yet, then we're running out of time." J.J. added, looking up from a picture of one of the desiccated victims to her team mates. None of them could refute that and the level of tension rose. They'd only been called down on the case two days ago and that they had made good headway on the profile, but if the UnSub crossed state lines, then the odds of him being apprehended diminished significantly. They'd be left waiting for more bodies to turn up elsewhere matching his MO and, as well as he'd hidden the first ones in Piker Woods, then it could take years for them to be found- if ever.

The team's musings were abruptly diverted when Sheriff Hope suddenly burst in, holding up a sheet of paper and brimming with nervous energy. "Sorry for interrupting," he broke in, approaching the table and handing the paper to Hotch, "but this just came in from the coroner's office. It's the first victim- they've IDed him."

Morgan shifted anxiously as Hotch's scrutinizing gaze skimmed the page, reading the name and examining the picture of the man clipped next to it. His mouth tightened into an even thinner line than usual and his dark eyes were serious and troubled. Finally- after what felt like an eternity but was only a few seconds- he turned to his team, meeting Morgan's hard stare first and foremost, and then stood from his chair, holding the paper out to be passed around.

Morgan took it, his heart pounding and jaw clenched, and looked down at the middle-aged man with a thin face and brown hair- a face that was eerily familiar- and Hotch's stern voice broke the silence enveloping the room.

"It's William Reid- Spencer's father."


	8. One Ill Turn

**Disclaimer-** see first chapter or profile.

**Author's Note-** The italicized sections in this chapter are portions of a scene broken up between those of another scene- the former of which takes places before the latter, time-wise. Hope that explanation made sense! You can probably figure it out yourselves, but I just thought this might help you to keep from scratching your heads and prevent some of the momentum of the story from being lost. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 8- One Ill Turn...**

Silence.

They team knew the implications of the first victim's identity, knew that he'd had a personal relationship with UnSub and had hurt him in some way, ultimately causing the UnSub to begin killing in the first place. The team had also known that this victim- the first- was the key in finding their UnSub... but this was not the news they wanted to hear, even if it perhaps should have been expected.

Morgan was the first to speak, breaking the uncomfortable quiet that was punctuated with furtive glances to one another, conveying numerous messages and thoughts. "William Reid left his wife and son when Spencer was four and Spencer never saw him again." he argued against the forgone conclusion that everyone was already thinking about.

"He could have been lying." Hotch pointed out.

"Or the simple act of leaving could have been enough." Gideon counter-suggested. "William was killed not long after Spencer was expelled from the academy; Spencer could have reached out, looking for support. When he was rejected, he snapped."

It was plausible; even more than that, it was probable- but it was still unwelcome.

J.J. shook her head. "But he wasn't even living in Nevada at the time." she objected on Spencer's behalf.

"No, but his mother lived here, and he made occasional visits to her." Gideon said, as if it was clear and simple. He could invision it easily enough... "It wouldn't have been too hard for him to locate his father and then coax him into a little camping trip- to catch up on things, talk, explain why daddy left..."

Morgan closed his eyes, jaw flexing with anger as the proof of Spencer's guilt finally settled on him with brute force, despite his refusal to accept it. "The academy accounts for the sexual abuse. All that pent up rage was transferred to his father, who'd only ever left him alone to take care of a sick mother. Spencer said himself that the UnSub was killing unfit parents." he concluded, looking about the room at his teammates with disappointed resignation. But the facts were the facts and, as a profiler, Derek couldn't ignore them any longer, no matter how sorry he'd felt for the kid. _Still_ felt.

"And he's been injecting himself into the investigation," Gideon added, "keeping tabs on our progress."

Once more, it was true, but J.J. kept seeing the bright yet sad man she'd had lunch with just mere hours ago- his laughter and his tears and the feelings of affection he'd brought to her heart. Her eyes swept over the pictures on the board, lingering on the graves and the corpses, and tried to imagine Spencer mutilating the molesters and drugging the mentally imbalanced, forcing the drunkards to drink until it poisoned them, and then tried to imagine him standing over the graves after he'd buried their lifeless bodies... The two realities didn't want to mesh but there was the sickening certainty that they did, and J.J. suddenly found herself wondering if he'd left the messenger bag in the SUV on purpose, or if he'd sabotaged his car, for that matter.

Morgan's phone rang and he picked it up, immediately switching it to speaker so that everyone could hear. "Hey, Garcia," he greeted wearily, "you're on speaker, so be good." he warned.

Not bothering to remark, the plump blonde went straight to business. "I checked into the cadets involved in Spencer Reid's assault like you asked, and I found something highly interesting, if not a little disturbing. All of the cadets graduated and moved on to their careers in the FBI, going into different branches- some in the field, some out of it- but, in each case, the story ends the same; they were all killed, either by an UnSub they were after or in random accidents." she reported to them, for once somewhat mellow.

Hotch glanced at Morgan, surprised. "_All_ of them?" he repeated.

"Mmm-hmm. All five agents, dead within two-and-a-half years." Garcia verified.

"Five?" Morgan countered, confused. "But only four cadets were named in the file."

Garcia raised her eyebrows. "Ah, but Agent Harold Ford- Markus Ford's father- was also killed. An apparent suicide after the death of his son, but there were a couple of unusual things about the crime scene. For one, he was naked when he hung himself in the basement, and there was no note. Just his badge around his neck." she clarified for them.

Hotch stared at Morgan across from him, reading his thoughts, but his own were masked. "Other than that, there was no reason to suspect foul play?" he pressed.

There was a jangle of chunky earrings as Garcia shook her head. "Nope; no sign of struggle, no forced entry- nadda. Six weeks earlier, his son had been captured by an UnSub and brutalized for several days before being murdered. The UnSub was later killed in a shootout and Markus' body was found in a river a few days afterward; however, it is noteworthy that he was mutilated in the _exact_ same way as our victims in Piker Woods, plus, one of his toes was severed- the same one that Reid lost to frostbite."

Morgan could feel Hotch's eyes burrowing into him but he refused to meet his gaze, instead staring at the phone he clutched tightly in his hand, indignance overlapping sympathy and in no mood for the visual "I told you so" he was surely getting from the older agent right now. Morgan had kept his head on and hadn't let his judgment get so impaired by his partiality towards Spencer that he was blind to what was in front of him, or so that he was now unable to recognize that Spencer had apparently not only killed sixteen people here- including his own parents- but had also taken vengeance on the cadets.

"The investigators were sure that their UnSub killed Ford?" Gideon inquired, by now pacing the room with a contemplative expression scrawled on his face.

"They didn't have any reason to doubt it. He was last seen by his team disappearing into a train yard in pursuit of the UnSub, who obviously escaped, and Ford's blood was found in the UnSub's workshop." Garcia replied. "And since both he and the UnSub- Victor Donahue- died, there wasn't anyone to question about it."

But how difficult would it have been for someone of Spencer's intelligence to abduct Ford and make it seem like the UnSub had done it instead? He would've had to follow Ford or the UnSub to the train yard and then he would've needed a way to quickly and silently subdue the larger man- a blow to the back of the head or maybe an injection of a sedative. All that would have remained afterward would have been for Spencer to carry Ford off to a waiting vehicle, or even use the trains. If either Ford knew the identity of the UnSub he was pursuing or Spencer had managed to figure it out himself, framing the UnSub for the rest would have been easy enough.

_Too easy, perhaps,_ Morgan wondered rebelliously?

But, as much as he wanted to believe that Ford's death wasn't related, the mutilation was too much to dismiss.

"What about the other cadets?" Morgan asked, wondering if they had gotten the same treatment.

Garcia didn't hesitate, having anticipated the question. "Jamaal White was killed in a car accident when a flat tire cause him to swerve into oncoming traffic, Greg Larabee burned to death in a house fire- no suspicion of arson- and finally Everett Collins was found under a stream of ice-cold water in his shower, ODed on a strong hallucinogen."

Gideon understood the connection, even if there didn't appear to be any outwardly. "Spencer couldn't risk using the same MO on all of them, aware that, as FBI agents, their deaths would receive more scrutiny than normal, but he had to make them suffer, make them feel the fear and pain that they'd put him through and recreate the assault where and how he could." he stated definitely; Jamaal's body crushed, Everett forced to freeze, and Greg's house burned down the same way that the house Spencer had been held at had been destroyed.

The team members glanced at each other, sickened by the turn of events and the rising death toll and the compiling facts, and they were more aware than ever that the UnSub could run at any time- especially since Spencer was sure to know how close they were to discovering him; J.J. had told him as much before they parted ways at the garage. If he wasn't gone yet, then he would be soon.

"Thanks, Garcia. We'll get back in touch with you later." Hotch ended the conversation, having heard enough even if she did have more to tell; they could hear it after they had Spence, and he moved over to take a center position in the small office. Morgan closed the phone and Hotch stood with his hands on his hips, his gaze dark and intense as he slowly looked at each of his agents.

...

_"Our UnSub is Dr. Spencer Reid." Hotch informed the room full of police officers and detectives._

_..._

Morgan crouched near the door, his gun held low and Prentiss on the other side with police behind both of them. He turned the knob slowly- cautiously- and was surprised to find it was unlocked. Opening the door a crack, he peeked in to the empty hall, then motioned for Prentiss to follow as he went in.

...

_"He is highly intelligent and is FBI trained. He is to be considered extremely dangerous." Hotch continued._

_..._

Hotch and J.J. entered from the back door, going through the living room and passing the now sedated bird on the floor. They could hear movement and clanking in the kitchen, identifying the location of their target, and they crept forward silently. They paused when they reached the kitchen, pressing their backs against the outer wall, and they saw Morgan and Prentiss likewise positioned on the other side of the opening.

...

_"He's experienced with weaponry and drugs. I caution you, do _not_ underestimate him!"_

_..._

Outside, Gideon stood by the remaining entrance to the house that led directly to the kitchen, half a dozen officers on either side of him.

Inside, Hotch and Morgan were passing signals, organizing their attack. J.J. dared to peer into the room beyond and caught a glimpse of Spencer. He was doing dishes, pensive and troubled as he wiped a plate, and was completely oblivious of what was about to happen...

...

_"If he gets the chance, he may try to take his own life. So, if you have to shoot him in order to stop him, _shoot. _Don't hesitate." Hotch warned._

_..._

They rushed into the room, Morgan yelling: "FBI! Don't move!"

Spencer whirled around, the plate dropping and shattering on the floor, his eyes wide with shock and fear. He took an involuntary step backward and Morgan yelled at him once again.

"_Don't_ move! Keep your hands where I can see them!"

There was a knife lying on the counter near Spencer and Hotch eyed it worriedly. However, Spencer didn't make a move for it but kept gaping and darting terrified glances around at the officers and guns trained squarely on him.

Gideon came in through the kitchen door, his task force behind and blocking off the only exit as they flooded the room.

"Get down on your knees!" Morgan ordered. Spencer hesitated and Morgan barked the command again.

Spencer flinched, the jolt running through the length of his body, but this time he complied, slowly and clumsily lowering himself onto the floor, the ceramic of the broken plate cracking under his knees. Morgan and Hotch moved towards him, their guns still raised, but the rest of the officers kept their positions. "Hands on your head!" Morgan instructed.

Spencer did as he was told, his hands trembling visibly in the air, and Morgan reached him in a few long strides. Pulling out his cuffs from his waistband, he took Spencer's wrists firmly and fastened the bracelets around them behind his back. The younger man looked up, catching the agent's hard eyes, but the expression of lost confusion on Spencer's face nearly made Morgan doubt himself, nearly made him doubt what they _knew_. But he reminded himself that there was no other way to explain it, that there too many coincidences to be chance.

Pushing aside the momentary flash of pity, Morgan hoisted him up. "Spencer Reid, you are under arrest for murder."

Hotch finished patting him down and J.J. drew closer, lowering her gun a bit as she met Spencer's gaze. Shame flickered in his eyes as well as a silent entreaty, searching J.J., but then his attention was wrenched back to the agents on either side of him as Morgan and Hotch took him by the arms and led him out. They prompted him to move with a slight push, and Spencer grimaced as he crossed the broken plate shards, cutting his feet on the sharp edges. A trail of blood was left in his wake, crimson against white tile.

J.J. stood staring at it, mortified and regretful and angry all at the same time, and she barely noticed when Gideon came up next to her until he placed his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. When she looked up at him from her daze, she saw the sedated honesty- touched by warm encouragement- that she'd come to know over the years, but there was little comfort to be found at that moment. Knowing this without being told, Gideon passed on, leaving her to follow at her own pace. With a swallow, she did.

Beyond, the herd of cops and FBI agents left the house, their captive in the center of it all. A few neighbors stood outside, gawking openly at the spectacle, and Spencer ducked his head, trying to hide from them. Morgan and Hotch directed him to a waiting police cruiser and loaded him into the back, slamming the door closed on him and sealing him inside. The team got into their own cars one by one and, a minute later, the entourage sped off.

...

The interrogation room had once been a small break room for the officers, back in the seventies. It had since been retrofitted for its new purpose, but the smell of old coffee still lingered in the air, the window that streamed daylight into the oppressive chamber screwed shut but showing signs of rust and decay. A table was positioned in the middle of the room, a built-in ceiling light glaring overhead. Spencer sat on one side of the worn wooden table- Morgan and Gideon on the other. A tape recorder lay between the two.

The silence was tense, Gideon staring patiently at the young genius and working through the layers of his mind, while Morgan also stared, but with far less fascination and much greater disappointment. He'd dealt with a lot of UnSubs during his career with the FBI and not all of them had been hard-knuckled or unlikable and many of them were to be pitied for their pasts, but few had been as gifted or outwardly tender as the one that now sat before him. Moreover, Morgan had been indignant at the wrongs Spencer had suffered and had taken this case personally because of that, liking the kid for his awkward but somehow charming manner and the strength he'd had in enduring the trials he'd faced.

But, as it turned, he hadn't endured- he'd succumbed, becoming like those that had accosted him in his own, twisted way.

Spencer, for his part, was sitting and waiting anciously for one of the agents to begin; he'd been in the interrogation room, sweating it out, for nearly two hours, and the profilers had watched him on the cameras, studying his body language and discussing the best approach to the interrogation. Now that they had him, the team was contacting his colleagues and digging deeper into his personal life for anything that would help them get a confession out of him. Hotch, J.J., Garcia, and Prentiss were all still working on it, but Gideon knew where he wanted to start with Spencer.

Gideon flicked an eyebrow up at him, almost impassively. "Do you know why you're here?" he asked at last, breaking the quiet.

Spencer laughed tearfully. "Because you think I'm the UnSub." he answered, trying to make a joke out of it despite the fact that he was obviously distressed.

It was an interesting response- a defense mechanism, perhaps- but deflecting wouldn't help him here. "And why's that?" Gideon pressed, remaining unaffected. Spencer liked to talk and liked to share his abundance of knowledge; using that weakness was their best shot to get him to slip up.

"From what I saw in the briefing room," Spencer replied after a moment's consideration, "I know I fit the profile you've been working with well enough- withdrawn, none-aggressive, employed at a job that's below my level of ability- but I'm hardly the only one. My history with the FBI likely caught your attention, but the lack of a paternal influence on my childhood leaves a gap in the profile." he listed off.

Gideon nodded, satisfied. "True, but there are ways to account for that. Just because your father wasn't around doesn't mean you didn't hate him." He took out a photo from the folder he had in front of him, sliding it over to Spencer.

Spencer looked down at it, his brow gathered. "Who is that?" he asked, perplexed.

"I think you know who that is." Gideon responded. "He was your very first; the first person who ever hurt you, the first person who had to pay." Spencer didn't say anything, just kept examining the picture of the decomposed corpse, seeming confused and fascinated by it at the same time, and Gideon went on, finishing. "Your father, William Reid."

Head shooting up, the look of surprise in Spencer's tear-filled eyes would have been enough to make Morgan want to comfort him under normal circumstance; however, the profiler knew it was only an act, and he filled with anger instead.

"What?" Spencer choked out.

Gideon leaned in, face darkening imperceptibly as he hardened his stare on the other man. "How did it feel?" he inquired softly. "_What_ did it feel like to finally kill your father? Was it glorious, to stand over his body, to see him reduced to nothing? Were you tired afterward- physically drained and exhausted, but-" he smiled sadistically, "_so_ satisfied? Tell me, Spencer; what was it like?"

Morgan knew what Gideon was doing- trying to get Spencer to flash back and involuntarily give something up, or in the very least put him off-balance.

Spencer shook his head. "No, I didn't. I couldn't-" He trailed off, wanting to say more but unable to find the words or piece his thoughts together coherently, his mouth working mutely.

Gideon didn't relent. "What about Markus Ford?" he pressed. Spencer tensed visibly at the name and his gaze darted between the two agents, perhaps trying to get a read on them or figure out how much they knew. "What about all the cadets that beat you, abused you, and ruined your career?" Gideon continued. "Did it feel like justice when you killed them?"

Again, Spencer appeared alarmed. "The- they're dead?" he repeated. "How did they die? _When?-_"

Gideon slid over a stack of papers clipped together- a collection of newspaper headlines, crime scene photos, and reports. Spencer's breathing became labored as he peered over the documents, growing more anxious and upset, and sweat dampened his hairline.

"If it wasn't for them," Gideon said coolly, "you'd be on_ this_ side of the table, not that one."

Sensing it was time to add his piece, Morgan placed his folded hands on top of the table's cold surface, appearing reserved and in control, but inwardly he was he was upset and angry. "You were expelled following the assault- which was blamed on you- and afterwards you needed someone to hold onto, to bring some stability back into your life," he began, "so you tracked down your father and tried to reconnect with him. You managed to get him to go on a camping trip with you, but it didn't go well; emotions flared up and one thing led to another. You didn't plan on killing him, but once it started you just couldn't stop yourself." Morgan ran through the events, guessing parts of it but confident that he was close to the mark.

"It was easy to go from your father to the cadets." Gideon went on. "It excited you and made you feel in control- something you've never had much of in your life. When you were finished with them, you quit your job and moved back to Vegas in March of 2005- the same time the killings started up again. You started with your mother but, after you'd protected yourself, you had to save all thoseother children... because that's what you've always wanted to do, isn't it, Spencer? Save lives. But you couldn't do that by joining the FBI- Markus Ford took that away from you- so you began killing instead." Gideon concluded, staring at Spencer as the younger man looked raptly over the documents, his fingers trailing a fraction of an inch above them in the air.

Spencer shook his head in wordless protest at the allegations, heavy tears rimming his eyes as conflicting emotions boiled and churned and beat within him, but he kept them from falling. "_No!_ You're wrong; it wasn't me!" he voiced a strangled and ardent objection, raising his head to look at the agents across from him. "I was living hundreds of miles away from Markus Ford when he was killed; I had a steady job- I would never do that to him, or anybody else!"

Gideon raised his eyebrows. "No?" He handed another paper to him. "What about them?" It was a picture of the Durenskis in their graves.

"If you didn't do this, who did?" Morgan asked. "You're a smart guy and you know all about profiling; you know what the facts say. Can you give us some other kind of explanation?"

Spencer was silent for a long minute as he thought furiously, trying to come up with something that made sense, but he failed and he at last shook his head again. "I _loved_ my mother- I would never hurt her! It has to be a coincidence that Ford and the others were killed; they all had dangerous jobs. And my father... I _didn't know him!_ I don't know what he did after he left me and my mom or who he might have hurt- but I _didn't_ do this!"

The desperation for them to hear and believe him tugged at Morgan's heart, but he couldn't let himself be swayed by sentimentality.

Morgan leaned forward into the table. "I've been there," he quietly confided, forcing himself to dredge up the painful memories he'd done his best to bury, "I know what it's like when somebody steals something from you- something you can never get back. They don't just hurt your body for a moment, they raid your mind, your thoughts and your peace, obliterating them. No matter how much you tried not to think about Markus Ford- _or_ your father- you still thought about them a thousand times a day." he stated resolutely, knowing that he was right, just as he knew that he would never forget Carl Buford.

Spencer wanted to scream at them to stop; these were his secret nightmares and monsters, the things that made him feel weak and vulnerable and that he'd tried so hard to forget! They belonged in the darkness, not in the daylight, where he could not deny their existence...

"And every excruciating moment- everything they did and _didn't_ do to you-" Morgan went on, "is preserved, alive, in your eidetic memory."

Anger rushed through Spencer, his mind impaling him with vivid memories- a thousand agonies at once- and, as Morgan watched, he was certain that the young man was about to let loose all the indignation and pain he'd pent up, unleashing the caged beast that had killed those people. For a moment, it seemed likely but then, unexpectedly, the rage vanished from Spencer's face as surely as if it had not been there, and his face dropped suddenly in horror, paling.

"Y-you're not going to keep searching, are you?" Spencer stated in a whisper. "You're not going to keep looking for the UnSub..."

Morgan's brow gathered, his disappointment milked over by curiosity at the new tactic. So, he was going to play innocent, then? Play the concerned son card? It was predictable, but Morgan would have thought Spencer was bright enough to know it wouldn't work on them.

"And why would you?" Spencer went on, becoming almost calm as the tears that had brimmed slipped free across his cheeks as he glanced down at the array of pictures and documents on the table. "You already think have the man responsible and you're not going to waste your time looking for someone you're certain you have. You'll focus your efforts on me now... and the UnSub will get away- if he isn't gone already."

He almost seemed to be talking to himself now and Morgan had to hand it to him; the kid was a good actor. A less experienced profiler might be having second thoughts about the kid's involvement right about now... As it was, the part of Morgan that wanted Spencer to be innocent was nudging the back of his mind with doubt, hearing what the kid was saying and taking it to heart. But, with learned self-control, Morgan shoved it aside and ignored it.

The interrogation wasn't going the way he and Gideon had imagined or hoped, the control Spencer had over his mental processes firmly intact- despite his fear and distress- and his thinking not derailed enough by his emotions to illicit an unintentional confession. They would have to try another method, perhaps start prodding his guilt over his mother's murder and institutionalization to get him to open up.

Morgan was contemplating this when there was a rap on the door. He turned to see Hotch through the slit of the tiny window, who motioned for him and Gideon to come out. Standing, Gideon collected the scattered papers while Morgan turned off the recorder and stuffed it in his pocket.

"We'll be right back." Jason assured Spencer in no comforting way, then left him alone in the room.

Closing the door behind him, Gideon faced Hotch. "Found out anything?" he asked.

"Nothing in our favor, unfortunately. All of his colleagues and acquaintances vouch uphill and down that he's not capable of murdering anyone." Hotch reported.

Gideon nodded, not surprised that no one believed Spencer was the UnSub; their profile had said as much. "That's to be expected."

"There's also some paperwork putting him at his office at the times of several of the murders." Hotch related, showing them what they'd turned up and handing Gideon several sheets of paper. "He could have slipped out easily enough or worked his schedule around the killings, but any defense attorney is going to be waving this like it's ironclad proof of Spencer's innocence- which it's not."

Gideon thumbed through the material, Morgan peering at them from his side. "These could have been faked." the older agent offered an explanation from another angle, while wondering if a prosecutor could spin any of those possibilities well enough to override the paperwork's validity.

Hotch glanced over Gideon's shoulder toward the door, even though the small window was hidden by the other man's frame. "How's it going in there?" he asked, turning the conversation onto them.

Gideon's face tightened, disregarding the papers to focus on the more immediate and important matter at hand, and he shook his head. "Not well." he admitted. "He's feigning ignorance at everything we've told him, and he's genuinely upset."

"Upset that we caught him." Morgan added tersely. "He's playing innocent."

Hotch sighed heavily as he met their eyes. "Do you think you can get a confession out of him?" he needed to know.

"Too soon to tell." Gideon replied truthfully.

That really wasn't the answer Hotch wanted to hear and he fought a grimace. "Without one, there's only a fifty-fifty chance at best of getting a conviction- all of the evidence that we have on him is circumstantial and any attorney is going be poking holes through it before the jurors can even get seated. There also isn't any jury in the world that isn't going to be sympathetic towards Spencer." he stated, upset at the thought that the young genius could possibly get away.

That wasn't the end of their problems, either. "The deaths of the FBI agents have already been attributed to other UnSubs and causes," Morgan stated, adding to the list, "not to mention that we can't even make a connection to them without bringing up an assault that- for all intents and purposes- _didn't_ happen! If anyone _did_ bring it up, it would only mar the reputations of the agents and the academy and create more sympathy for Spencer."

"And you can count on character witnesses." Gideon stated.

That was also going to be a problem.

"He wrote to his mother every day," Hotch agreed, "read to her from her favorite books when he visited, maintained her house and garden, and he had the sole responsibility of taking care of her while he was growing up- on top of building a stunning academic career that's definitely going to earn him some respect from the jury. Even his diary has nothing incriminating in it; at the very worst, it denotes a deeply troubled and lonely man, but one who is otherwise fairly stable. The defense would probably have more use for it than the prosecution." he entailed. As a former attorney himself, he knew how the evidence- or lack thereof- would go down in court better than most people and could see how the defense would twist things.

Morgan sighed heavily, anxious and aggravated, and ran a hand across the top of his short hair. "Plus, no one's going to like the thought of what would happen to him in prison." he muttered, trying not to think about it himself or be sickened by it; it would be the worst parts of Spencer's life all over again, times a thousand.

"We _need_ that confession." Hotch stressed to the two men.

...

Inside the interrogation room, the subject of their conversation unbent the paperclip that he'd swiped from the stack of papers and began fitting it into the cuffs around his wrists. He worked at it silently for a minute, his chest tight with fear and tears and disbelief, before there was a soft clack and the latch was released. He slid out of the cuff but, knowing time was short and that the FBI agents could come back in at any time, he didn't bother to unlock the other one, letting it hang as he rose from his chair and went over to the window.

He'd noted that it looked rusted and old and that the screws seemed loose while he'd been waiting for the agents earlier, and the worry that he'd been wrong was dismissed as he examined the window, finding the screws wiggling and moving easily under his fingers. Metal meshing ran between the two sheets of glass, but that was unimportant as he began to free the frame, turning the screws by hand and removing them one by one as quickly as he could. It wasn't nearly quick enough to suit Spencer, who was nearly panicking at the thought of being caught, and then at the thought that he was actually breaking out.

At last the final screw was gone and, mindful of the noise, he tugged on the frame gently, once, then twice, and on the third time it came out. He prevented it from crashing down but only just, and he softly set it on the floor. For a moment as he looked back, his eyes caught on the camera mounted on the wall, and his heart rate tripled. There must not be anyone watching right now, or else he'd already be had, but if someone came back to the monitor or happened to see him in passing, it would be over...

Turning back, he forced himself not to think about, to not think about all the things that could go wrong, and- grabbing the edge of the window- he hoisted himself up. Anyone shorter or less slender would probably wouldn't have been able to get through the cramped opening, but Spencer managed it with little difficulty, although he was far from graceful as he fought to pull the upper half of his body over the edge. Once he did, however, he came out easily and landed on the other side with a gentle thud, rolling in the grass. The sun shone overhead, beating down on his face, and a warm breeze combed through his hair.

Spencer winced as he picked himself up, looking around the wooded back of the police station; he was alone and, by the silence within the building behind him, no one had detected his absence- _yet_. But they would. _I'm a fugitive..._ he thought, terror rushing through him.

Swallowing hard, he glanced around himself once again, and then took off into the woods.

...

"If we draw Spencer into a conversation about his mother-" Gideon suggested, "work him slowly and be patient with him, let him see that we care and that he can trust us- then he may start talking willingly. His mother is his greatest source of guilt and, for her death above all others, he feels remorse. He won't be able to keep silent for long." he asserted.

Hotch nodded his consent. "Alight. Try it. We'll keep working on things from our end." he promised.

Gideon and Morgan both turned toward the door, the younger agent following the older as it was opened, but they both stopped cold in the threshold at what they saw or, rather, _didn't_ see. The room was empty, the seat Spencer had been sitting in vacant and the window propped against a wall on the floor, a draft coming in from outside.

"He's gone!" Morgan shouted in shock and anger, pushing past Gideon and striding to the window as he pulled out his gun. Cautiously, he peeked out, but the yard beyond was devoid of any sign of their prisoner, aside from some crumpled grass directly below the window. "He couldn't have gotten far yet!" he yelled to the two agents behind him.

Hotch was already on the line with the sheriff, alerting him of the escape and coordinating their efforts to apprehend Spencer, and Gideon was pacing the room, slowly examining it as he considered what the youg man was likely to do next. Gideon hadn't predicted this- it wasn't in Spencer's behavior to be illogical or rash; escape was the desperate action of a guilty man who was certain he was cornered. Spencer must know how this would paint him and that their case against him- which he also should have realized was weak and not likely to hold up in court- was far stronger for what he'd just done. Had it been a fear-based decision or a reaction to the threat of prison? Or was there perhaps something else that Spencer worried they'd discover, and this was his attempt to hide it before they could find it?

It worried Gideon that the escape was so unexpected and so against what they knew of the young man; what else might he do that they wouldn't anticipate? And how could they catch him if the profile was ineffective?

"He'll need to get mobile." Gideon stated, turning to Hotch. "Tell them to be alert to any car jackings or missing vehicles in the area." he instructed.

Hotch complied, passing along the information.

Reluctantly, Morgan reholstered his gun, fuming as he stared at the window. "How'd he get out? We were gone a minute and he was handcuffed in a secure room with FBI agents right outside the door!" he demanded in frustration.

Yet, he was more angry at himself; angry that he'd let the childlike, genius doctor get under his skin, angry that he'd adamantly refused to believe that Spencer was the UnSub until the facts made it blatantly and irrefutably clear to him, and angry that he'd been duped, forgetting how intelligent and resourceful Spencer was. Spencer had been in a tough jam before in that warehouse, tied up and beaten and in the middle of nowhere in the freezing winter, but he'd gotten out then- Morgan knew that! Shouldn't he have realized that Spencer would have been capable of escaping the tiny locked room?

Repressing a growl, Morgan turned and automatically met eyes with Gideon, who was far calmer and more controlled. They stared at each other for a minute in silence, Morgan hurt that Spencer had let him down like this- even though he didn't want to admit that to himself- and Gideon understanding without judgement the true source of his ire.

"We got him once; we'll get him again." Gideon stated to his subordinate with quiet resolution.

Sixteen people slain by Spencer's hand in Piker Woods, and five more agents murdered elsewhere... Their faces flickered past Morgan's mind- both before and after Spencer had killed them- and his jaw flexed with raw determination and certainty. "Yeah," he vowed, "we _will_."

**Please keep reading! There are goodies coming in the next chapter!**

**I felt kind of bad for having Spencer break out, but I really needed it for the story. All the same, I just want to state that I don't support or condone breaking the law. (I'm sure you **_**didn't**_** know that! :) LOL!) **


	9. Deserves Another

**Disclaimer:** see first chapter or profile.

**Chapter 9 ...Deserves Another**

The outside of the station was flooded with cops, Sheriff Hope giving out orders for the woods to be searched and grids being created within the designated perimeter on the map laid out on a police cruiser hood. Hope and Hotch had already sent off half a dozen cars to sweep the area for signs of Spencer and Hotch was now focusing on his team, the majority of which were justifiably agitated and, in Morgan's case, irate.

"There's a car heading to Spencer's house right now. It's unlikely he'll go there, but we have to cover our bases." Hotch told them rapidly, all business. "We're going to the sanitarium- even if he isn't there, I want to have a better look at his office. There may be an indication of where he's going."

He turned, leading them into the SUV, but J.J. held back. "I'm going to stay and help with the search here." she stated.

Hotch paused long enough to consider it and the merits of her remaining behind before giving her a brief nod of approval. The four teammates climbed into the car and the doors shut, the engine rumbling to life. A moment later they sped off.

Glancing around her, J.J. located a young officer standing by a cruiser who was currently unoccupied and walked over to him. "You and me, let's check out the back." she instructed him, forgoing pleasantries in favor of efficiency. Hope was still organizing his men and, although a quick sweep had been done around the building, no one had combed it in detail yet.

"Me?" the officer repeated.

Unholstering her gun as a precaution- even though it was unlikely that Spencer was still anywhere nearby- she headed to the side of the station and nodded. "Yeah,_ you_. Come on!"

With some hesitancy and a glance at Hope- who was too engaged with the other officers and his map to notice him or J.J.- he followed. "It's Davies, by the way." he told her, likewise taking out his gun and checking it.

The pair slowed as they neared the window Spencer had escaped through, J.J. taking her time to carefully examine her surroundings and any traces left behind of his passing. Beneath the window, she stopped and crouched to garner a better look at the trampled grass that led off into the woods. Eyeing the trees and bushes that blossomed merrily in the warm sunlight, she tensed as she considered what might lay beyond; even with Davies with her, she wasn't going in there without much more back up and the proper resources to track Spencer. Dogs were on their way and Hope would be finished coordinating his men in a few minutes.

Shifting her attention off from the woods, she straightened and continued to slowly walk along the building, J.J. fairly certain that she wouldn't have to use her gun at the moment but still keeping it held low. Davies had moved ahead of her and he now reached the corner of the station, turning and disappearing around the other side. She couldn't have seen the man that grabbed Davies' arm and wheeled him in a violent jerk against the cold cement of the building, covering his mouth with a hand as a needle was driven into his neck. Davies struggled ineffectually for a moment before the drug won over and he slumped against his attacker. His body was lowered quietly to the grass and quickly stepped over.

"Davies?" J.J. called, moving forward cautiously, having heard a thump and some muffled sounds, but unable to identify what it was. Her heart sped up when she got no reply. "Davies?" she repeated. She glanced around her at the empty woods, then back to the distant parking lot and the barely visible assortment of cops gathered there. Reassured that help was nearby if she needed it, she turned her head forward again, apprehension building in her chest as she tightened her grip on her gun and swallowed, stepping around the back of the building...

...

"It doesn't make sense that Spencer would escape like this; he must be certain we're going to dig up some kind of evidence we haven't found yet that'll nail him as our man beyond a shadow of a doubt." Morgan stated, managing just barely not to grate his teeth. "If we assume he's leaving Nevada imminently, where's he gonna go?" he inquired to the car full of profilers.

"He'll stick to what he's familiar with." Hotch stated. "Garcia's pulling up records on his previous homes and work addresses outside of Nevada. His employers and landlords may know if he had any close friends he might go to."

It was something at least, but Morgan didn't want Spencer to get that far; this had to end, and end _now_.

Glancing at the GPS on the dashboard as he navigated down the road, Hotch added, "We'll be at Bennington in five." His phone rang as he spoke and he dug it out from his pocket, reading the ID that came across before he answered. "Got anything, J.J.?" he asked.

There was a moment of silence, then a controlled and soft voice- not that of the female agent left behind at the precinct- that issued a short, astringent command. _"Turn around."_

Hotch's brow gathered, confused and alarmed, but controlled. "Excuse me? Who is this?" he demanded, unable to recognize the hardened voice.

The man ignored him. "There are explosives wired underneath your car and I'm watching you on the camera attached to your GPS, which I've hacked into." he explained curtly, smugly. "You'll turn around at the mini-mart to your left and head back down Wilshire Avenue to Grey Haven Boulevard. Agents Gideon and Prentiss will hand their phones up to Agent Morgan, who'll remove and crush the batteries. I will then feed the coordinates you're to go to into your GPS and you _will_ follow them or_ I_ will detonate." he warned.

Hotch had become rigid and, by now, the others were also aware something was wrong, although they hardly knew what. The first thing Hotch considered was that the caller was bluffing- the UnSub had never used explosives before or ever displayed in any way that he was tech savvy- and the second thing he considered was that it wasn't even their UnSub, but a crank call. regardless, Hotch had to treat this seriously until he was sure.

"Why should I believe you?" he inquired, refusing to roll over or relinquishing command of the conversation. "This isn't part of your MO and, even if it was, you wouldn't have had either time or opportunity to plant explosives." he stated, drawing the caller out.

There was a derisive snort on the other end. "Really? You've been running around, doing background checks, sniffing around _my _gravesite- and you think there hasn't been opportunity?" he challenged. Hotch knew he was right; at the station, it would have been dangerous and all but impossible to do anything with the BAU cars, but anywhere else wouldn't have posed much of a problem. Not to mention that, as a chemist, Spencer would know a variety of ways to make an explosive. Even more noteworthy and important to Hotch, however, was the way the caller referred to the gravesite as _his_, solidifying the seasoned agent's certainty that it was in fact the UnSub and not a fake.

"You really need to stop making _faulty _assumptions and start doing as you're told before someone gets hurt!" the UnSub warned with a snarl.

"And then what?" Hotch rebutted. "You're a revenge killer, and the second you get your hands on us, you'll kill us. That really isn't much incentive to do what you ask."

"If all I wanted was you dead, then you would be!" the UnSub sternly corrected. "What you need to worry about is that my plans aren't contingent upon you living. It's a bonus, but nothing more. And, if I were you, I'd stop Agent Prentiss from dialing her phone!" he ordered.

Hotch glanced back to see that Prentiss had, indeed, pulled out her phone and was in the process of dialing, having perceived enough of the situation to know that they needed backup and a trace on Hotch's line. "Prentiss, Gideon, phones up here!" Hotch ordered sharply, aware that the UnSub _would _detonate if anyone called out, even though he was far from sold that there actually were explosives under the SUV. However, he couldn't take that bet and be wrong; in the very least, the UnSub wasn't lying about being able to see them.

Hesitating and surprised by the request, Prentiss looked at her colleagues for direction before reluctantly closing the phone and giving it to Morgan, who accepted both hers and a compliant Gideon's. Grudgingly, Hotch also ordered Morgan to remove and crush the batteries as the UnSub had instructed.

"_What?_" Morgan repeated with dark eyes and disbelief.

Hotch didn't have time to argue. "Just do it!" he stated firmly, returning his focus to the phone. Jaw tight and Morgan angry that they were apparently somehow being manipulated by Spencer, he capitulated, mashing the batteries under his heel.

"You need to kill us in person to have an emotional release;" Hotch stated to the UnSub, "maybe I'd rather deny you that. But I don't believe there are any explosives under this car; that takes planning, and you didn't expect us," he argued deductively, "and you certainly didn't plan to get caught!"

There was another laugh- bitter and angry. "_You_ and your _assumptions!_" he snarled. Still, his voice remained masked to Hotch, but there were inflections that at times sounded much like Spencer's. "Believe what you will," the UnSub went on, dripping with malice, "but do I need to remind you who's phone I'm calling from? Maybe this picture will help."

Heart skipping a beat, Hotch realized that he'd been so taken aback by the UnSub's contact and, likewise, his orders that he'd forgotten the ID that had come across the cell. Holding the phone away from him, he watched as a snapshot of J.J. filled the small screen, the agent bound and unconscious with a bloody wound marring what was visible of her forehead through her hanging hair.

Behind him, Prentiss saw the captured image as well and her eyes widened. "Is that J.J.? How did he get her!" she demanded, regarding her coworkers. They were as horrified as she was at the development, but neither man had an explanation for how J.J. been abducted at the police station, and the silence remained intact as Morgan's fist flexed at his side.

Hotch returned the cell to his ear as the UnSub went on. "I have Agent Jareau," he warned, "and any resistance or attempt to disobey me _will_ result in the untimely termination of her life. If you want to see her alive, you'll do everything I say and you will _not_ attempt anything foolish!" he stated coldly. "Now, do I have your cooperation?"

The question lingered in Hotch's ears, a thousand scenarios playing out in his mind. Going to an UnSub without backup and without anyone knowing where they were was a bad idea and, as much as he wanted to protect J.J., he had to consider the danger he'd be putting the rest of his team in as well. But if there was a bomb- and the possibility of that was too significant to dismiss- then their lives would be forfeited anyway, and J.J.'s along with them. So the next thing was, was there was any way to communicate with the outside or to let Sheriff Hope know what had happened? The phones were destroyed and Spencer was watching their every move... the answer was no. Was there a third option that he hadn't yet considered? His mind worked and puzzled around it for a long minute before he came to his conclusion, as much as it disgusted him.

"Yes." Hotch stated his acquiescence, angry but resolved; the team would have to play along with the UnSub for now and try to talk Spencer down when they got there. The sheriff would realize sooner or later that they were missing and Garcia would be able locate the car through the GPS when that happened- assuming that Spencer hadn't taken that into account and found a way to circumvent it, if that was even possible. Even if they weren't found, however, Hotch hoped the team would be able to get back control of matters, using their insight of how Spencer thought and felt to gain the advantage, or perhaps there was something that the UnSub had overlooked. Hotch still didn't understand how this had happened- how Spencer had gone from being locked up in an interrogation room to making them jump through hoops with J.J. as a hostage- and, at the back of his mind, Hotch was beginning to wonder if they hadn't somehow been wrong...

"Good." the voice sounded moderately pleased. "Now turn the phone onto speaker and give it to Agent Morgan while you turn around at this gas station." he commanded.

Bitterness filled Hotch's mouth but he complied, handing the cell to the man in the passenger seat without offering an explanation that wasn't necessary, the UnSub continuing his litany of instructions as the older agent signaled and made the turn. Morgan held the phone away from him disdainfully but his grim expression took on notes of intrigue as he listened to the voice, wondering what Spencer hoped to achieve by all this and- much like Hotch- searching for a familiarity that was largely absent. Morgan had to chastise himself for his thoughts, for still wanting to believe something that certainly wasn't true, and he reminded himself that the quietness of the voice and the hardness it had taken on was altering it beyond recognition, regardless of who it belonged to.

Glancing at his teammates behind him, Morgan wished they could talk and pool their skills to determine their next course of action, but that wasn't an option with the UnSub listening in. He could tell, however, that Gideon and Prentiss shared his desire, anxious but collected as they looked back at him and conveyed what they could by the silent exchange. There were a number of messages there but, most predominantly, was the one that they all shared; _We're going to catch him, and we're going to get J.J. back!_

_..._

Half an hour later, they arrived at a beach house in front of a large, blue lake, the water lapping softly on the golden sand. The low sun sparkled off from the crystalline surface and the sky above was a flawless, rich blue, the wind gently tugging the grass and trees lining the driveway. The SUV slowed to a stop, Morgan still in possession of the phone from which they were being given their directions, but- now that they were here and once they were out of the car- the team would be in a better position to deviate from his orders and stop the UnSub, once and for all.

"No matter how well you think you've planned this," Hotch stated to the man on the other end of the phone as he parked the car, "this isn't going to end the way you want it to. You're an intelligent man and you must know that we're not going to listen to you beyond this point, no matter what you threaten to do to J.J." he reasoned as much as warned, using the nickname to try to humanize the agent to Spencer.

"Of course, Agent Hotchner; I'm well aware that you don't care as much about Agent Jareau's life as you do about catching me. Ever consider what that makes you?" the voice insinuated, unperturbed by Hotch's forthright assessment.

But Hotch wasn't going to be swayed either. "J.J. is a professional and she understands the risks," he responded to the accusation, "and she would rather die herself than let you keep killing innocent people."

"_Innocent?_" the UnSub roared suddenly, outraged by the description of his victims. "Drunkards and molesters who beat and abuse and scar their children; crazies too lost in their minds to be anything but indifferent to the sufferings they impose on those that would be dear to them! How can you call _them_ innocent? _I_ was innocent!" he ranted, anguish audible through the indignation. "_Once._ But, after it's been destroyed and ripped apart, you can never get it back. Don't lecture _me_ on innocence!"

Gideon couldn't quite refrain a smile at having provoked the UnSub, confirming their profile was accurate and feeling a sense of satisfaction that- for all of the UnSub's devices and threats- the profilers would always be the stronger ones. _They_ could manipulate, they could twist decisions and mindsets and fool him into thinking what they wanted him to, and that gave Gideon both confidence and pleasure over the serial killer.

"Now," the UnSub ordered after collecting himself briefly and drawing a breath, "hand the phone to Agent Hotchner, Derek."

Disgust washed the mullato man's face at the use of his first name- said like an insult- and did as he was told, meeting his superior's gaze. _Keep it cool, Morgan_, Hotch silently told him, and Morgan nodded. Yeah, he could be cool, could be patient and bide his time... but then he was going to wipe the sneer out of the UnSub's voice when he got his hands on him!

"Agent Hotchner," the UnSub went on, "you will collect the guns from your agents and get out of the car, _alone_. If anyone refuses or attempts to exit the vehicle-"

"You'll blow it up, I understand." Hotch finished for him, a sick feeling taking root with a suspicion about how the UnSub expected to keep the team under his thumb after they were out of the car. If they were unarmed, it would that much easier and, while Hotch might be forced to risk J.J.'s life to bring this guy in, he couldn't do that to _three _of his agents, something the UnSub was well aware of.

Following instructions at Hotch's gesture to them, Prentiss, Gideon, and Morgan gave over their weapons, piling them in Gideon's coat, and- with an anxious but reassuring glance to his team- Hotch opened the door and got out. Heat rushed his face in stark contrast to the cool air of the AC and he could smell the sand baking under the sun as he walked toward the porch. A camera mounted on a tripod was visible through a window and he saw the lens shifting to focus on him.

"Go to the porch. You'll deposit the guns in the lock-box on the table." the UnSub detailed and, as Hotch climbed the steps, he quickly saw both items. They were small, the round wooden table just big enough to fit the foot-long rectangular black case that was opened on top of it, and the agent noted that they were lined up opposite the camera at an angle optimal for viewing; Hotch knew without being told that he'd be reprimanded if he tried to block the shot with his body.

Stopping in front of the table, Hotch put the phone down to undrape the guns carried in the jacket, holding up each weapon to the camera one by one before putting them in, then took out his own gun and did likewise.

"Very good." the voice approbated falsely, sarcasm dripping as he continued. "Now- not that I don't trust you but, rather, because I know how _devoted_ you are to your work- there's a metal detector on the shelf underneath the table. Use it." he commanded bluntly.

Hotch closed his eyes with disappointment but quickly shoved it aside, retrieving the wand and turning to stare at the camera as he swept it over his body. He tried to keep it away from his ankle without it being obvious but it did little good, the sensitive device screeching and squealing as it passed over his leg.

"Naughty, naughty. Try something like that again," the UnSub admonished without humor, "and I'll liberate Agent Jareau from one of her fingers."

Unholstering the small gun, he put it in with the others, grim with the knowledge that bringing in the UnSub had just become that much harder. Still, Gideon had always said that one didn't need a gun to kill, and Hotch was going to have to rely on their profiling abilities instead. They could still turn his mind and work the circumstances; it wasn't beyond their control.

"Put your phone in the lock-box and close it, and then signal your team to join you." the voice instructed firmly. "You'll then sweep them and proceed inside, down the hallway to the last room on the right. Agent Jareau will be waiting for you there. If you try to ambush me or do anything underhanded, I promise you that- not only will you fail- but Agent Jareau will be dead before you arrive."

"I understand." Hotch assured, even as he pondered an attack. They had the numbers, yes, but the UnSub had a hostage and they were unarmed, plus the UnSub had the advantage of knowing the house and surrounding area. He wouldn't hesitate to kill J.J. or anyone else he needed to- doubtlessly it was his intention to do so anyway- but, on the other hand, the team had the advantage of knowing Spencer's psychological vulnerabilities. They might be able to get him off balance and distract him long enough to make their move...

Hotch just had to figure out what that move would be.

Far from confident but hiding it beneath a calm exterior, he sealed his phone inside the box, stewing with worry and apprehension over impending events and contemplating the many ways this could go wrong as he turned to look at his team in the car. Each member was important to him- personally even more than professionaly; whatever happened, he didn't want the day to end by losing one of them, and he drew a deep breath as he waved them over to join him. With different degrees of hesitancy, they each unbuckled and opened their doors, closing them when they were standing outside with a half-expectation of doom. But there was no explosion, no sign of anything evil or ominous awaiting them, aside from the spying camera through the window and the box arranged on the table.

They climbed the porch and Hotch briefed them quietly as they went inside, at last having some semblance of privacy to collaborate in the hallway; even if the UnSub did have cameras stratigically placed to keep an eye on them, he probably wouldn't be able to hear them very well while they were whispering.

"We're not just gonna let this guy keep pulling our strings, are we?" Morgan asked as they cautiously moved down the corridor, carefully observing their surroundings.

"No," Hotch answered, "but if we're going to have any chance of talking him down, we have to let him feel like he's in control."

Morgan's mouth tightened in restrained ire; it certainly didn't seem like they were _letting_ him do anything or that they had much of a choice in what was happening. "I don't like this." he stated. "Going in unarmed, handing ourselves over? We're no good to J.J. if we're dead or caught." he argued.

Gideon peered into an opened door as they passed, fighting the part of him that agreed. "Hotch and I have both been in situations where we were unarmed and held as hostages and, in both of those cases, we made it out just fine. We're profilers and we don't need guns to do our job; don't forget that." he counseled.

They neared the last room on the right and they paused outside of it, Hotch glancing back at his teammates to issue a final order. "We're going to have to play this one by ear. Our first priority is making sure that Spencer _doesn't_ leave this house." _And get the chance to start killing again in another area, _was the unspoken other half of the sentence, but they all understood. He received silent nods and Morgan's face reflected unhappy acceptance, trusting his superior's judgment that far and relieved that they were all on the same base, but unsettled by the far from ideal circumstances that they were about to walk into...

Nodding back at them shortly, Hotch turned and led them into what turned out to be a dining room. It was softly lit by candles set on a round mahogany table in the center, a crimson rug spread over the polished floor beneath it, and there were strange pictures hanging on the walls. The UnSub was nowhere in sight, but their eyes quickly fell on the form tied in a chair along the wall to their left, J.J. limp against her restraints.

Morgan rushed up to her, his heart flaring with concern as he knelt and brushed back her hair. Gideon and Prentiss remained vigil, inspecting the room and watching the entryways at either side for sign of Spencer while Hotch joined the younger agents.

"J.J.?" Morgan called quietly, his fingers passing over the blood crusted in her hair near the temple. "Come on, J.J., wake up."

With a moan, she began to stir, even as Hotch examined the cuffs binding her arms behind her through the slits in the back of the chair. Disturbingly, he realized that they were J.J.'s own cuffs that she carried on her- as they all did- and that the UnSub must have the key. Hotch might be able to pick the lock if he had something to use, but the odds were that he wouldn't have the time, even if he did have something that would work.

J.J. moaned again and lifted her head slightly, her face screwing up in pain at the action, but Morgan continued to encourage her. She heard him, but her thoughts were fuzzy, struggling to collect events, her last memories... In a flash, she saw a pair of wiry hands grabbing her wrists, then the world spinning... It faded from her and, Morgan beckoning her, she forced her eyes open a crack to look at up him. He was here... was that a good thing, or not? Judging by the pain she was in, she didn't think she was in a good situation, although it was hard to recall... Her head pounded and the feeling of colliding against something hard jarred her, seeing white cement in her mind and feeling the pressure of a hand on the back of her neck that had propelled her into the wall...

"Are you okay?" Morgan said- _repeated_, more likely, J.J. corrected herself, reading the worry in his eyes.

"Y-yeah. I think so." she managed a reply, wincing. She needed a fistful of aspirin in the worst way and a soft bed, but at least she was in one piece. Taking stock of her surroundings, she looked around at the dining room, wondering how she had gotten there, and then something vitally important rushed to the surface of her memory...

_She fell to the ground, landing on her back. Agony filled her skull and darkness washed over her, beating in time with her pulse, and her head rolled listlessly in the grass. She fought against the darkness, struggling but losing as it came for her with increasing force, and she wearily opened her eyes as a man's legs stepped into view. Her gun dangled from his hand and, with detached fascination, she trailed the arm up to a narrow chest, to the neck... and then finally to the face. It took a moment for her recognize the man before her and then another for her to process what it meant, but then a feeling of deep relief and horror flooded through her... and carried her into darkness._

"It's not him." J.J. whispered, eyes wide as she stared at the agent across from her.

Morgan's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "What?"

"The UnSub," she repeated urgently, "we were wrong; it's not Spencer!"

Shock didn't describe what Morgan felt, utterly grateful that the man he'd developed an affinity for was being absolved but, at the same time, dumbfounded by the revelation. How could it not be Spencer? _Everything _pointed to him- the first victim, the cadets, his painful past, his knowledge of pharmaceuticals; _everything_ they had said that Spencer Reid was the UnSub! What other explanation could there possibly be?

"No." a cold voice suddenly agreed, and the team snapped around to see a man walking over the threshold that separated a kitchen from the dining room, stopping as he raised a gun to point at them. Even in the dim light, Morgan knew him instantly, although he looked far different now from the last time Morgan had seen him; his slicked-back hair now hung loosely about his thin face, his casual clothes had been switched out for a dress shirt, vest, and tie, and- overall- the man standing before him was a good imitation of someone else that Morgan knew.

And that was when it dawned on him...

The UnSub moved closer, sneering. "And that wasn't even your _first_ mistake!"


	10. Identity

**Disclaimer:** see profile.

**Author's Note:** Despite how portions of this chapter sound, there is _no_ slash in this story; there will be an explanation at the chapter's end. Also, the beach house was originally set at the ocean but, after realizing that Neveda is completely surrounded by land (my bad) I had to change it to a large lake. It doesn't have quite the same ambience but nothing's affected too badly by it other than that. Hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 10- Identity**

The sanitarium wasn't the safest place for Spencer to go, but it was better than his house. As far as he could tell, there weren't any police crawling around yet, but he still had to be careful. Quickly, he crossed the parking lot and entered the building, the pain of his injured feet reemerging into his consciousness as he limped along. For a while he'd forgotten about the cuts, absorbed in the disbelief and terror of being accused of his mother's murder, but he was grateful that he'd at least been provided with shoes following his arrest- ill fitting as they were with the bandages swathed around his feet.

Spencer'd had bad days before, but this one was a real doozy.

In all of his life, Spencer never would have imagined that he'd be a fugitive, but the realization that the hunt for his mother's killer was going to end- and that the UnSub would subsequently get away- had been more powerful than any notion of self-preservation. His mother, as trapped as she'd often been in the delusions of her mind and without the ability to even recognize her son for who he was, had been vibrant and brilliant and she'd been Spencer's whole world. Losing her when she'd vanished three years ago had been- beyond a shadow of a doubt- the hardest thing he'd ever gone through, the grief eclipsing the horrors of Markus Ford, the numerous school bullies he'd faced growing up, and even the dread of one day losing his mind to schizophrenia. He'd nearly drowned in her loss and, since then, only his devote hope to unearth what had happened to her and bring her killer to justice had given his life any direction.

Knowing that the BAU and the investigators had made their conclusions- understandable but incorrect as they were- and that the man that killed his mother would escape had left Spencer with only one certainty; if he didn't find out who the UnSub was, no one would ever try. It had been crazy and extremely illegal, but Spencer had chosen to run and, with some effort, he'd managed to make it to the sanitarium undetected.

_So far,_ he corrected himself. But he couldn't stay long; cops would be here sooner rather than later to search for him and question his coworkers on his whereabouts. He didn't want to put any of them in that position, but he might end up needing some of their help.

Ducking into his office as fast as possible and locking the door behind him, Spencer exhaled heavily, shaking but in control as he forced himself to think. This just _didn't _make sense! The BAU was right that the circumstantial evidence dictated that he was the UnSub and, if Spencer had been in the team's place, he would have believed it, too. But there had to be another reason, something that the team had overlooked or oversimplified or overcomplicated, something that they'd been mistaken in, or perhaps there was another angle they hadn't considered...

Running a hand through his hair, he marched over to his desk, mentally reviewing everything he'd seen while in the interrogation room and before in the briefing room as he opened the bottom drawer and rummaged through it. All the evidence had been laid out before Spencer at one time or another; he just needed to recall it and sort it through and put it together in the correct order. He _could _do this! What other chance was there that the UnSub would be caught?

Pulling out the wad of emergency cash from the back of the drawer, he stuffed it into his pocket and thought furiously.

His father had been the first victim and the overkill made it clear that the UnSub_ had _known him and that William Reid's murder was more personal than the others; the problem was, he knew nothing about his father's life and had no idea who he might have come across or hurt... But, apparently, he _was_ a molester. The thought made Spencer shudder, aware that he shared his blood, and he couldn't help wondering briefly if his father had ever hurt him and he just didn't remember it...

_It doesn't matter now, _Spencer answered himself. There'd be plenty of time to think about it later- but not now.

However, there _was _something off in the profile, Spencer realized, although it took a moment for him to pin down what it was. It was the bodies- the way that they were buried, three in the first grave and the rest according to the time of their deaths. The team had stipulated that the UnSub needed the first grave to have components of all three forms of abuse in order to have an emotional release, but that didn't track; if that was so, the UnSub would have followed pattern with the other victims and there would be three to all of the graves, not random couplings.

There had to be a rationality to it, but what? What was special about _those_ three victims that they had to be put together, Spencer wondered. Their faces flashed past his mind in succession, trying to figure it out; his mother, his father, and Libby Hart. Burying his parents together made sense- but why Libby Hart?

Suddenly, the answer hit Spencer like a brick wall, unbelievable in its truth and blindingly obvious. _No, _it couldn't be possible...

But it was- and he was sure of himself, his mouth dry and heart racing. He was frozen for a moment with the horror of the revelation before his brain kick-started again, quickly venturing back into his desk to pull out a small case buried beneath the stacks of paper and place it on top of his desk. He swallowed hard as he unlocked the case, opening it to the metal glint of a revolver reflecting the yellow light of the lamp. With sweaty palms, he took it out and hesitantly stuffed it into the back of his waistband.

_I don't want to use it, I don't want to use it..._ he repeated to himself. Especially not on _this_ person. He knew now and understood- with a cold stone in his stomach- what he'd never known before or realized all this time...

Spencer's eyes suddenly fell on an envelope in the center of his desk, catching on the handwriting in which his name was scrawled across its white surface. It had changed over the years- from childhood to adulthood- but he recognized it instantly all the same. Jarringly, another piece of the puzzle fell into place as he picked it up with a barely steady hand, turning it over to open it. He already knew it was from his childhood secret admirer- whom he'd related of to J.J. earlier that day- and now Spencer also knew who that person was.

Unfolding the sheet of paper from within, he began to read;

_My Dearest Spencer,_

_I'm filled with regret to think of all you've been through these past days. I wish I could have spared you from the pain, to alter the events as they unfolded, but nothing happened as I intended. Surely you must know that I never meant for you to come to harm; you are and have always been my cherished one, my most beloved._

_There's too much to tell you in a letter, but I know you remember where to find me- you've never forgotten anything I've ever written to you! After so long, we'll finally be together- as we always should have been- and the precious secret I've kept will at last be shared with you. How ardently and expectantly I've awaited and longed for this moment, imagining it a thousand times! You have been a dream to me amid an endless sea of horrors and heartache, breathing air into me when I began to drown; the thought of being united with you fills me with unsurpassing joy!_

_Whether or not you've known it, I, too, have been watching out for you and protecting you, striking back at those that would hurt you and devastate your bright and wondrous future. Like the BAU. I hope you will appreciate all I've done for you, just as I've appreciated you._

_There's so much for us to do together! We'll have the whole rest of our lives to spend with each other and fulfil our dreams, forever inseparable- as we've always been. Please know that, even though it's been a long time since I've written, I've never been far from you. I'm confident that you've not forgotten me and still know where to find me; I'll be awaiting there anxiously for you, and then I promise you all of your questions will be answered!_

_With my deepest love, I am and will always be,_

_Your Guardian_

Spencer quickly read the letter a second time, nauseated as he analyzed the wording and handwriting and then, pushing aside his disgust at the UnSub's obsession with him, he recalled to mind the other letters that had been sent to him throughout the years, searching them for any place that the UnSub had mentioned. The admirer had said he knew where to find him and that he'd written about it, so it had to be in there somewhere. Never before had Spencer been so grateful for his eidetic memory.

"The beach house..." he whispered to himself, the description of the home that his admirer dreamt of living at with him coming back at once. It wasn't far from here- maybe twenty minutes- but Spencer would still need a car to get there, and he couldn't exactly call a cab. Dr. Ritman might be willing to help him- she probably didn't even know yet that he'd even been arrested in the first place. But, should he call the police and tell them what he'd discovered?

Spencer considered it briefly; he knew who and where the UnSub was, but the problem was that the police weren't going to listen to him readily and, by the time they did, it could be too late. By the sound of it, the BAU was in trouble- if they weren't already dead- and, even if a bunch of cops and SWAT officers _did _show up at the house, the UnSub wouldn't go down easy and the BAU could very easily get caught in the crossfire. The might be killed, and the UnSub would almost certainly die... As much pain as he'd caused Spencer, Spencer didn't want that happen. Too many lives had been lost already and he couldn't risk any more death. If the UnSub wanted Spencer...

Then that's what he was going to get.

Taking out a sticky note, he jotted down the address of the beach house, then stuck it in the center of his desk with the letter. The cops would find it eventually and come with backup, but he'd have a little time before that happened- time to stop the UnSub, time to save the team... or maybe just enough time to get killed. _Think positive, Spencer!_ he urged himself, battling his apprehension.

Gathering what little he had, Spencer left the office and steathily rushed down the halls. Minutes later, he drove away in Ritman's car.

...

The members of the BAU were lined up in chairs, hands cuffed behind their backs and all watching the man across from them. He exuded nervous excitement as he pattered around, laying out plates and glasses on the table, arranging utensils and napkins, and drawing the window curtains closed to make it cozy, the candles flickering warm light in the room. The table was set up for two, which intrigued Morgan, and the man was talking to himself as he went about his tasks. The team had been reluctant to follow the UnSub's orders, even at gunpoint, but both Hotch and Gideon's attempt to undermine him psychologically had failed and, with it abundantly clear that the UnSub would make good on his threats regardless of the consequences, they'd been forced to oblige, using their own cuffs to bind each other to the chairs in the same manner as J.J. Last of all, Prentiss had cuffed herself, having been perceived by the UnSub to be the weakest and least likely to pose a physical threat, although Morgan knew she was as fit as Hotch and _more_ fit than Gideon.

Now they were left waiting, the UnSub refusing to answer or respond to them and not caring to share his plans to the team. It was obvious that they'd somehow managed to fall into the same category as the victims in Piker Woods in the man's mind, deserving of punishment and needing to be eliminated for his- or maybe someone else's- protection, and that they didn't matter beyond that. The UnSub didn't need to offer them an explanation or, if he was going to, it wouldn't be until his speculated dinner guest arrived. Morgan, however, had a pretty good idea of who the UnSub was waiting for and, while it left some question of whether or not that person had any knowledge or involvement in the UnSub's crimes, he was glad that Spencer at least stood a shot at getting his life back. _If _he survived.

"There's so much to be done!" the UnSub said, more to himself than any of them. "Not that he's picky," he corrected hastily, adjusting a plate, "but I just want everything to be perfect for him!"

The adulation in his voice and the joy sparkling in his eyes was almost frightening, but it was a useful means of evaluating the UnSub as well as a crucial facet of his profile that they'd failed to notice before. Then again, Hotch _had_ noticed it, hadn't he? Morgan glanced over to him, recalling the older agent's unfinished words the previous day in the sanitarium parking lot; _"He's clearly dependent-" _Hotch had recognized that the man in question had a fixation, but he just hadn't pegged him as the UnSub or put the two together, and Morgan almost wanted to laugh at their oversight- except that their situation was _anything_ but funny.

"He should be here soon!" the man announced with a grin, stepping back from the table to scrutinize the arrangements.

Gideon stared at their captor, profiling him and winding through his head as only he could, and his conclusions were as dark as they were undeniable. "You're expecting _Spencer _to come." he stated rather than asked. The UnSub looked directly at him for the first time since becoming occupied with the forthcoming dinner, stunned and a little threatened. "Did the two of you plan this? Were you killing together?" Gideon pressed.

"No!" the UnSub objected sharply, horrified at the suggestion. "How could you _think_ that?" he demanded, taking a step towards Gideon as he shook his head. "He'd never touch anybody! _I've_ been protecting _him_; don't you understand? He needs _me!_"

That's what Gideon had figured and what everyone else had by now discerned. "No," Gideon countered confidently, unintimidated by the killer, "_you_ need _him!_ He's survived his whole life without you, surmounting incredible obstacles and putting behind him the things he can't change; _you're_ the one that's been clinging to _him_ for life!"

The UnSub had grown rigid and his slight frame was filled with anger. _What are you doing? _Morgan wondered, half fearing that Gideon was only going to make things worse. He was a great profiler and no one could argue that he understood criminals better than any of them, but he had a habit of pushing his tactics to a dangerous edge.

The UnSub shook his head. "You're wrong. You don't know what you're talking about or all that I've done for him- and you don't know Spencer!" he argued.

Gideon grinned with a soft chuckle. "Actually, I _do_. And, you know what?" he leaned toward the UnSub against his bonds, raising his eyebrows. "You're going to be rejected."

If Gideon saw the blow coming, he had no time to react to it, jerking back in the chair violently and tasting the acridness of his blood as a tooth cracked. His jaw throbbed and there would be a spectacular bruise in a few hours, yet Gideon only smiled with self-satisfaction as he looked up at the man scowling at him. He'd gotten to him, planted a seed of doubt, and that was all that mattered.

"Spencer and I are bonded; he _can't _reject me." the UnSub stated with deadly softness, his voice quivering with barely controlled rage, and his fiery eyes sparked with fury. "And _you-_" it sounded like a swear as he pointed a finger at Gideon, continuing deliberately, "you arrested Spencer, publically humiliated him, and ruthlessly interrogated him during one of the most confusing times of his life- and for that, you'll pay! _Don't_ lecture me on what he will and will not do; you know _nothing!_"

Turning, he stormed out of the dining room and back into the kitchen, leaving Gideon and the other profilers alone. Morgan glanced at the older agent, who didn't react to the rebuking glare directed at him but stared after the UnSub, and Morgan shook his head as he turned away, unable to resist testing the metal cuffs circling his wrists for the twelth time. It was ineffectual as expected, the bracelets secure and not giving, and he resigned himself to the knowledge that there was nothing they could do but wait- for another chance to reason with the UnSub or for Spencer to come, something Morgan felt certain would happen. For Spencer's sake, he hoped against the odds that this wouldn't all fall apart; when it came to stalkers who were willing to kill, there were only two ways things typically ended- by suicide, or by the UnSub murdering the object of their affection.

...

Spencer pulled into the driveway, battling the fear that he was too late as he parked next to one of the black SUVs issued to the BAU. The presence of the cars confirmed that they were here, but were they alive? Swallowing hard and doubting his decision not to call the police for a split second before he reaffirmed to himself that it was the best way to keep everyone involved alive, he took out his gun and checked it. He'd never used it before- except in practice- and he hoped he wouldn't have to today, especially when he imagined the person that would be at the other end. There had to be a way to talk him down, to bring him in without anyone getting hurt...

He hoped.

Stuffing it back in his waistband and pulling the tail of his dress shirt out to cover it, he got out of the car and, taking a deep breath, walked up the porch, pausing at the door. Once he went in, there would be no going back and no way to predict what would happen; even the best profiler in the world couldn't see the future. What Spencer suspected would be solidified into truth and the reality of why all those people had been murdered would become irrefutable and he would have to live with the consequences. This was going to be hard for him and the situation difficult to manage; the hardest part of all might be controlling his anger enough to be effective in talking and reasoning to the man who had murdered his mother and who had caused him such grief and anguish. Spencer couldn't afford to lose it, and he couldn't afford to lose his empathy either, without which he wouldn't be able to reach the UnSub or alter his actions.

Turning the knob, he opened the door and slowly stepped in, the bright sunlight outside swallowed by the darkness of the hall. Everything was quiet, with only soft sounds emitting from a room at the end of the hall where orange candlelight danced out. Cautiously, Spencer crept towards it...

The creaking floorboards alerted Morgan that someone was coming and he turned his head in time to see Spencer peeking into the room and then vanishing again behind the wall. Morgan couldn't refrain from closing his eyes with a grimace; he'd hoped, futilely as it was, that the kid would keep himself safe and stay away from this mess. But, he reminded himself, Spencer was the best person to help them out right now and maybe the only one that the UnSub would listen to. He also had FBI training and had all but been a member of their team at one point, he reassured himself.

Deeming the area clear of threat, Spencer entered the dining room and hurried over to the chairs, gaining the rest of the team's attention as he knelt by Emily- the first person in the row and the last to be cuffed. "Spencer!" she whispered in shock as he took out a pick from his pocket- _probably the same one that he used to escape_, Morgan silently groused- and began working it into the cuffs.

"Are you okay?" Spencer asked quietly, then quickly added, "How did he get you?"

Hotch shook his head. "There's no time for explanations, but we're fine. Did you know about him?" he replied, certain he already knew the answer but not about to rule anything out just yet.

Spencer looked up, his eyes begging them to believe him. "No. I went back to Bennington after I escaped- sorry about that, by the way. He'd left a letter for me, implying although not outright stating that he had you here."

J.J. straightened a little, recalling what he'd told her at lunch about his admirer and understanding the significance of the letter, and their gazes met meaningfully for a second.

"You're not going to have time to get all of us free." Morgan warned, darting a nervous glance at the kitchen. "Does anyone else know where we are?"

Spencer nodded shortly. "I left a note on my desk, so help should be coming as soon as my office gets searched, but I wanted to make sure I'd get a chance to talk to him first." he told them.

"Yeah, not to sound ungrateful or anything," Prentiss said, craning her neck in an attempt to get a view of him behind her, "but why _are_ you here?"

There was a click as the lock opened and, aware that the UnSub was on the verge of emerging from the kitchen by the sound of approaching footsteps, Spencer pressed the pick into her palm and stood. "Because _you're_ here."

The simple sincerity of the words cut through Hotch's heart, making him regret his earlier suspicions, although he knew he hadn't been wrong to have had them. Gratitude for the kind- if somewhat foolhardy- act of coming to their aid washed over him as he watched the young man who had placed himself in jeopardy in order to help them- despite his history with the FBI and the BAU's more recent arrest of him. Spencer would have been a good agent, Hotch reflected somberly, _if_ his life hadn't gotten so horribly derailed.

Spencer walked around to the front of the chairs and faced the kitchen entryway, his palms sweaty and pulse racing as he waited for the UnSub to come out, scared and livid and anxious at the same time. He still couldn't believe that he hadn't seen the truth before- there had been signs all along, but he'd never recognized them for what they were, letting little things go that he shouldn't have- but it was too late to change anything now. There was no way he could have prevented the killings- even if he had detected his admirer's psychosis- but there was still a large gap between intellectual knowledge and emotional acceptance; it would be a long time- if ever- before Spencer forgave himself.

Swallowing hard, he prepared himself as the sound of the footsteps neared, the floorboards creaking...

And then Jeremiah Hart- a man that Spencer had sat with numerous times in their support group as they both mourned the disappearance of their mothers- entered the room. He stopped and stared at Spencer, a radiant smile splitting his face as he saw the young doctor, and he beamed with rapturous joy. "I _knew_ you'd be able to find me. I _knew_ you'd come!" he congratulated himself, assured that he'd been right about everything all along by the other man's presence.

It was hard to speak, Spencer's throat suddenly constricted, but he managed a reply after a moment. "I had to." he stated. Studying Jeremiah silently for a minute, he thought about what he'd done, and then all of the pain and all of the relentless questions that had been impaling him so long at last won out over prudence, emerging in a strangled, single word: "_Why?_"

If Jeremiah heard the agony in Spencer's voice, he didn't show it, walking over to him with his blissful smile still fixed firmly in place. "For _you_. It was all for you! You_ must _know that by now!"

Spencer stared back at him with tightly restrained anger, screaming inside that he would never have asked for Jeremiah to kill his mother or all those other people- even Ford and the other cadets- but he kept the objections from issuing, bitter tears stinging his eyes. "You didn't have to." he stated, the most neutral comment he could muster, although it was laced with pain.

"I _wanted _to!" Jeremiah emphasized, stepping closer still and placing a hand on Spencer's shoulder. Spencer managed not to flinch- barely- and he ducked his head to hide a grimace of discomfort. Jeremiah was willfully oblivious to all of this, enamored and imprisoned in the fantasy that he'd created about his "guest", and he gestured abruptly to the table. "You must be famished after the day you've had! Please, sit! I know there's a lot to talk about," he went on, leading Spencer to a ready chair, "but I thought maybe we could do it over dinner."

Spencer sat, listening as Jeremiah apologized for not being able to prepare a home-cooked meal, and his gaze traveled around the unfamiliar room as his mind worked overtime to process everything. He wondered ridiculously amid the thousand thoughts flooding him how and when Jeremiah had gotten his paintings which now hung on the walls- pictures of people, fictional creatures, and places that Spencer had done over the years- and then panned over to study the profilers lined up to his left. He knew that they were depending on him to get them out of this, but he was also aware that they probably didn't trust him either, and he searched them for signs of confidence. Morgan was apprehensive, J.J. was still half dazed from her concussion, Prentiss was observing the UnSub and planning, and the two oldest agents wore hardened expressions that told Spencer little if anything. Without an answer, he regarded Jeremiah again before the killer noticed that his sole attention wasn't on his host, hoping that- if nothing else- the team wouldn't unintentionaly make problems for him. Spencer wasn't quite sure what he was going to do yet- it was partly dependent on Jeremiah- but it would be best if he could get the killer away from the team and eliminate potential complications.

"I know you like Japanese, so I got takeout," Jeremiah enthusiastically displayed his knowledge of Spencer as he served them, "but don't worry; I set forks, so you won't have to deal with chopsticks!"

_I'm supposed to be impressed and grateful for that?_ Spencer wondered incredulously, but shoved the thought aside, forcing himself to focus on formulating the proper response. "Thank you." Spencer smiled up at him, endeavoring to seem sincere and appreciative. _Reassure him, make him feel comfortable, like he's doing a good job_, he instructed himself. "It's really thoughtful; you know me really well."

Jeremiah's grin grew, delighted with the praise. "I'd hoped you'd like it. After all this time... It's not how I imagined it, but the important thing is that we're together!" he asserted, and Spencer readily nodded his agreement, playing along.

"I would have thought, though," Spencer said carefully, not wanting to hit the wrong note or sound disapproving, "that you'd want to be alone for this." he surmised, glancing meaningfully at the bound team members.

Jeremiah's smile faltered briefly, following his gaze to look at the five agents, then pushed it back up as he regarded his guest. "They're for later!" he explained jovially, taking the remaining seat across from him and sitting down. "Something to celebrate the commencement of our future with; I wanted to do it together!"

Spencer was momentarily repulsed that Jeremiah actually thought he would kill the team with him but, accurately judging that this wasn't the right time to argue what would be done to the BAU, he followed the killer's lead and picked up his fork. Eating was the last thing he wanted to do right now- especially with the way his stomach was churning- and he felt guilty for doing it in front of the distressed agents, but it would be a mistake to offend Jeremiah. Bringing the fork with the noodles piled on it to his mouth, he chewed and swallowed hard, the food settling with all the weight of bricks.

"Do you like it?" Jeremiah asked eagerly, seeking his approval.

Spencer's hand tightened around the utensil but he kept his true emotions from showing, smiling at the young man. "Yes. It's very good." he replied.

Jeremiah relaxed a little and shifted, happy and finally ready to move things along. "Well," he sighed with a nervous laugh, "I suppose it's time to tell you the secret- although you've probably already got it figured out by now!" he stated, grinning beatifically. Staring at the man across from him- his _beloved_- whom he'd worked so hard to please and upon whom all of his happiness and hopes hung, he leaned into the table, close to Spencer...

"Spencer, I'm your brother."


	11. The Consanguine Mind

**Disclaimer-** see first chapter or profile.

**Author's Note-** see profile

**Warning:** this chapter involves the none-graphic discussion ofthe** sexual **and** physical abuse** of a child, as well as **neglect.**It may be disturbing to some readers and not appropriate for the very young.

**Chapter 11- The Consanguine Mind**

Yellow evening sunlight poured down on the ambulance parked outside of the police station and onto the man securely affixed to the stretcher being loaded into it, but it had no affect to rouse Davies. Sheriff Hope hovered nearby, having gone from professionally alert due to the suspect's escape to personally alarmed at the apparent attack on one of his deputies and the inexplcable disappearance of the FBI team.

"Is he going to be alright?" Hope asked the paramedics, posture serious as he considered having to inform Davies' family of any ill news.

Hefting up the stretcher into the ambulance with his partner, the younger of the two paramedics nodded curtly. "His pulse is steady and strong and his pupils are reactive; all his vitals are well within the norm. I think he just got dosed with something, but the doctors will be able to tell you more once he's been checked over." he replied.

Hope restrained a sigh of relief, grateful that he would recover but still anxious about the other problems he and his men were facing. "Davies was the last person to see Agent Jareau before she went missing; he might be able to tell us what happened to her. Do you know when he'll be awake?" he asked, taking care to explain the urgency even if it made him sound a bit insensitive.

"Not without knowing what he was given or how much. My guess would be a few hours, but it could be less." the paramedic answered.

That wasn't what Hope wanted to hear, but he knew an argument he couldn't win when he heard one and dropped it at that as the paramedics climbed into the ambulance after their patient and shut the doors. A minute later, it drove off and Hope turned away, disheartened and concerned.

"Wallace," he called, gaining the attention of a short, slender man in his late forties who was collaberating with several younger, bigger officers. Wallace immediately left the group of uniformed men and joined his superior- who was also an old and very close friend of his. "Have you been able to get a hold of Agent Hotchner or any of his team yet?" Hope asked, although he feared he already knew the answer.

Wallace's face was grim. "No. We've tried all of their phones several times but haven't been able to get through. I sent a squad car to the sanitarium they were headed to; it should be there in a few minutes."

Hope nodded, disappointed but not at his subordinate; Wallace had been a cop even longer than the sheriff had and, middle aged or not, he was still at the top of his game and could always be depended on. "Alright." Hope sighed, his hands on his hips as he considered their next move. "I want you to get on the horn with that technical analyst of theirs- Garcia- and see if she can get a beat on them."

"Yes, sir." Wallace replied promptly, pulling out his phone from his pocket and walking back towards the station.

"Wonderous cavern of incredible knowledge; enter and be amazed." Garcia greeted into her headset. Her levity turned into confusion when, instead of one of her team members, an unfamiliar detective answered her, and- a second later- she stiffened as he made his reasons for calling her known.

"What- what do you mean, you can't find them?" she demanded, already fast at work at her computer as she leaned forward, listening to Wallace as he continued to extrapolate on what had happened. She could track their phones or the GPS in their car once she accessed them...

Except Garcia quickly realized that they weren't there. It had to be a mistake.

"I'm on it already, Chilli Pepper- cool off!" she ordered rapidly as she tried to locate their cells again, vaguely aware that she was the one that was on the verge of panicking and not the innocent man on the other end. Her heart dropped as once again the screens came back with the same data telling her that the phones and car she was looking for weren't there.

"No." she stated softly to herself in denial, eyes wide as she stared at the computers. She was being blocked somehow or else the devices had been destroyed- but there had to be another way to find them. Determined, she began typing, furiously thinking up alternative means to track them electronically.

"I- I'm trying!" she reported angrilly to the persistent man, who could tell by now that something was wrong by her voice. "Their signals are being blocked and I'm gonna have to try to find a way around it. Momma's gonna need her space, though, honey!" she stated before abruptly disconnecting and leaving the detective hanging on the other end. She didn't care; her babies were missing and in danger and she had to find them before something bad happened to them... if she wasn't too late already.

...

The BAU team members stared at the two men seated at the table, looking from one to the other and appalled by the shocking revelation. It made sense, but it was something they'd simply never considered; Jeremiah Hart was William Reid's illegitimate son, who'd latched onto his older brother and used him as a shield against the physical and sexual abuse he'd suffered, eventually killing when their compiled tragedies overwhelmed him. Morgan was the only one among them who'd realized the truth before Jeremiah had spoken it, but he was still left reeling with disbelief and anger.

This had to be one of the most botched cases he'd ever worked on.

His lone consolation was that they hadn't been completely wrong about everything; the profile itself was right- with the exception of missing the UnSub's obsession and reliance on somebody else- and the first victim _had_ been a direct link to the UnSub. The team had just gotten focused on the wrong son.

Gideon had mentioned seeing William Reid's photo hanging on the lobby wall in O'Malley's firm and had stipulated that Spencer had met and known O'Malley through his father but, in hindsight, that didn't totally fit; eidetic memory or not, Spencer was only four when he lost contact with his father and it was doubtful that he would have had any lasting negative impressions of the other lawyer. Jeremiah, on the other hand, had known William Reid and his assosciates for fifteen years and had had plenty of time to indentify O'Malley's alcoholism and begrudge him for it.

Additionally, Jeremiah's obsession with Spencer also explained why Adrian Evereski- who had Asperger's syndrome- hadn't been killed with his wife; Garcia had run a more thurough medical background check on Spencer after they'd arrested him and discovered that he'd been diagnosed with the same mild form of autism as Evereski. Jeremiah _couldn't_ view it as a deficiency when the object of his affections also had the syndrome and, thus, Adrain had been spared.

The pieces were falling into place and only the details remained to be understood- things they didn't need to know but would doubtlessly be revealed as Jeremiah looked anxiously at his brother, eyes alight and wide with hope and excitement. It was obvious to Gideon that he had no real notion of Spencer rejecting him and he was in for a rude awakening when that shoe dropped, but Spencer appeared to be holding it together for the moment.

"After our dad left you and your mom, he met mine." Jeremiah continued after a long minute of silence when Spencer didn't say anything, Jeremiah nervous yet ellated to be sharing their joint history at long last. "He came and went a lot and they were never married or anything like that- he didn't care to and neither did she, but it didn't stop them from having me. My mom actually considered giving me up for adoption, but changed her mind at the last minute." He paused as he choked on a sad laugh, staring at Spencer and shaking his head as bitter tears glistened in his eyes. "It would have been so much better if she hadn't." he finished.

The truth of it was as profound to Spencer as his brother; it was such a small thing but, if Jeremiah he hadn't been surrounded by all of the abuse he'd suffered in his childhood, none of this would have ever happened and all the people he'd killed would still be alive. Like Spencer's mom. The elder Reid swallowed hard, fighting the anger and pain that rose at the thought that his dad had once again found a way to hurt him and his mom without being in their lives.

"I'm sorry for what you went through." Spencer offered sincerely, forcing himself to keep control despite his rampant emotions.

Jeremiah smiled with relief at his brother and absorbed the feelings of acceptance and affection, overjoyed by it. It was all he'd ever hoped for; to be loved by Spencer. "It was worth it. If everything hadn't happened the way it did- if I'd gone and lived somewhere else- I would never have known about you, I wouldn't have you sitting right here, across from me! There's _always_ a silver lining." he assured, confident Spencer recipricated his gratitude for the outcome of events.

Spencer didn't reply but glanced away briefly, as if stung by the words, but he quickly regarded Jeremiah again before the reaction was noticed, reassertng his friendly- if reticent- smile. "I like to think so." he agreed.

"I _know_ so!" Jeremiah insisted, leaning in even closer to the table. Then his face suddenly washed with aged torment as he recalled his unhappy homelife as a child, far from finished with his story as he continued. He needed to tell Spencer so that he'd understand what he'd gone through and how important they were to each other- to make him realize that they needed each other and were already long bonded together.

"My mom drank a lot," he began again, "and, when she was drunk- which was most of the time- she was mean. She'd beat me and lock me in the basement- sometimes for days- without feeding me. I could tell sometimes that it wasn't intentional; she'd just forget I was there. And then dad..." Jeremiah halted, mouth hanging as he searched for the right words, his heart squeezing at the terrors he didn't want to remember but could never forget. "At first I didn't understand. He'd tell me it wasn't wrong and, for a while, I believed him- that it was just something fathers do with sons to teach them how to be men but they don't talk about it with anybody else. But finally, I realized he was lying.

"I was actually angry at you at first because I thought you'd gotten off easy;" Jeremiah confessed, tears falling, "you didn't have my drunk mom and our dad had mercifully left you alone, untouched. And I'd heard about how smart you were- the genius who was reading Charles Dickens when most kids were just learning their ABCs and who could beat adults at chess! I thought you'd gotten the good life, with everything anyone could ever want... until I tracked you down out of spite. Even for a six-year old, it wasn't too hard to find the only twelve-year old in twelth grade!" he laughed, then sobered again, sniffing.

Shaking his head woefully and eyes full of pity and pain, Jeremiah related his first encounter with Spencer, obviously still afflicted by it. "As usual, no one noticed or cared that I was gone all day, and I found you in the school library. You were reading and doing homework and had these huge stacks of books all around you- you were completely engrossed in them, until a teenage girl approached you. I couldn't hear what was said, but you left with her and I followed you out."

Spencer's chest tightened with a sinking feeling about what day Jeremiah was referring to and what he was about to tell both him and the team of profilers handcuffed next to them. He'd tried hard to forget that day and had never spoken about it to anyone... but, could it be that Jeremiah had been that little boy who had saved him? Certain of it, Spencer's wretched heart screamed out mutely as he listened.

"She took you to the football field," Jeremiah continued, grieved, "and the football team was waiting for you. They ambushed you, calling you names and pushing you around, kicking you and hitting you... and then they took your clothes. You were struggling and fighting so hard- but they were so big and you weren't strong enough to stop them- but you kept trying." he said, stressing the last part. Clearly, it was important to him that Spencer had kept fighting even when it had been futile "They tied you to a goal post, spitting on you and making fun of you as you begged for help from the crowd that had gathered to watch... but no one helped you... just like no one had ever helped me. They'd all seen and known what was happening to me, but no one had ever done a thing. Watching you, for the first time, I realized I wasn't alone." he recalled reverently, tears slipping down his smiling cheeks in a mixture of joy and anguish.

Forcing himself not to look at the profilers- not wanting to see their pity or disgust or whatever else might be going through their heads- Spencer's throat constricted painfully as he stared at the man that had killed his mother- _his little brother_- but unable not to feel for what he'd been through_._ "When they finally got tired and left... you were the one that untied me." he stated, simultaniously solidfying the fact in his mind and letting Jeremiah's confidence in their relationship grow.

Jeremiah nodded happily. "I got to save you. I'd never felt like I'd had the power to do anything before or was really cared about by anyone- my parents always belittled me made me feel worthless- but you looked at me with such gratitude and wonder... I was a _hero!_" he breathed in wonder, reliving it as he'd no doubt done thousands of times before in his mind.

Spencer _had_ been grateful, he remembered vividly; scared and cold and hurting and traumatized more than he'd realize at that moment, he'd found a kindness and hope that he'd desperately needed in that strange little boy who'd offered him help, needing the assurance that goodness still existed in the world for someone like him. Unknown to Spencer, it had been a common need they'd fullfilled in each other that night- but how terribly it had all turned out in the end, the years of abuse that followed twisting that innocent need and perverting it into something detestable.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" _When we were younger, when I could have been there for you?_ Spencer wondered.

"I wanted to!" Jeremiah exclaimed. "But after we walked to your home and I saw your mother- realized what our dad had meant when he'd said she was sick- I knew I couldn't burden you further. You had enough to deal with, and it was enough for me just to know you were out there! But I missed you, so I wrote you letters. I didn't send most of them, but it was good to have someone to think about and talk to... sometimes, I'd write them in my head when I was locked in the basement, and I wouldn't be so scared and it wouldn't seem so terrible or so lonely anymore." He stared at Spencer, longing for him to understand, to fully appreciate everything that his older brother had meant to him. "You _saved_ me!" he stated emphatically, taking Spencer's hand across the table and squeezing it tightly.

Tears pricked Spencer's eyes- because Jeremiah _hadn't_ been saved, and the credit given to him was undue. Jeremiah had fed himself lies and fixated on him and turned his pain into hatred in order to survive, but he was still emmersed in the past and his life dictated by the attrocities done to him. He hadn't been saved- not even close.

"Then why-" Spencer started but his throat clogged and he had to try again, "why did you start killing? Dad- that wasn't planned, but the others..." As a psychologist and almost-profiler he understood perfectly what had happened, how Jeremiah had justified everything he'd done, but as a son and brother, the intellectual knowledge wasn't enough. He needed to hear it from the man who'd taken his mother's life and who'd vengefully killed the FBI agents and the other "misfit" parents.

"With dad, I just reacted; for the first time, I was brave enough to defend myself." Jeremiah answered. "It scared me afterwards- what I'd done- but it also excited me, because I was _free_. It was such a new feeling... And then I found out that you weren't at the academy anymore and I knew something was wrong, because it's not like you to quit or fail. So I dug and searched until I found out the truth- not what they said had happened, but the _truth_, how you were attacked. It was so_ wrong _that they'd done that to you and I knew that- if I'd defended myself- then surely I could do the same for you! They _had_ to be punished."

Spencer saw how the assault must have looked from Jeremiah's perspective- his hero being beaten down and nearly murdered and then betrayed by those that should have come to his aid- and how it must have reignated that recently discovered power to destroy the evil invading Jeremiah's life. It wouldn't have taken much to push him to kill again and Ford had provided that motivation. Absently, Spencer wondered briefly what would have happened if Ford hadn't assaulted him; would Jeremiah have ended at killing their father, or would he have found some other reason to continue?

More than likely, the murders would have happened anyway, Spencer knew; Jeremiah had gotten a taste for blood when he'd killed their father and become intoxicated by it.

"You're a technical expert- that's how you found out about the assault and tracked down Ford and the others." Spencer stated, suddenly recalling what the young man had told him about his profession when they'd first met at the support group years ago. Jeremiah's IQ wasn't quite as high as his own, but it was well above average and that combined with his technical abilities easily gave him the edge he'd needed to successfully mask the murders. It also explained a possible way that he could have come in contact with some of his victims, since Jeremiah occasionally made house calls to repair TVs, computers, and other electronic devices.

Spencer was suddenly overwhelmed by how much sense it made and flooded with guilt; the last three years, he'd sat across from Jeremiah and looked him in the eye, not knowing- never even guessing- that Jeremiah was his mother's killer! _How_ had he not known? He _should_ have seen it! A tear cascaded down Spencer's cheek and, absently, he tasted salt as it landed on his lip, a bizzare mortification knotting inside him as if it was a judge haraulding his sentence for his wrongs.

Blind to any display of his brother's grief, Jeremiah rushed to explain his actions toward Ford and the other cadets further, fearing Spencer's disappointment. "I wanted to do more- they deserved to suffer everything they'd put you through- but, with them being FBI agents, I couldn't risk it. I had to be careful, or else the investigators might have gotten suspicious and drawn the wrong conclusions and blamed _you!_ I tried- I really, _really_ tried- to make them pay, to make them feel all the pain they deserved." he stressed, regretful he couldn't have replicated the assault in its exactness for each of the cadets and wanting Spencer to know it hadn't been for a lack of desire. "But, at least they're gone, and they can never hurt you or anyone else like that again." Jeremiah vowed, sounding relieved.

Spencer knew that the young killer was looking for reinforcement right now- and it was important that he give it- but it took a force of will to muster any kind of positive response. "I'm glad you cared about what happened to me, Jeremiah... but you didn't have to hurt them." he replied carefully, keeping disapproval out of his voice.

"But I _wanted_ to!" he stated immediately, eyes sparkling adoringly at his older brother. "It made me feel good to be able to do something for you, to help you- like you'd helped me!"

_Stop saying that!_ Spencer screamed silently, the tears glistening in the orange candlelight drawing tracks down his face as his hands suddenly itched with the desperate urge to withdraw from Jeremiah's grasp at his words, but they remained unmoving. Whatever pity or indignance he felt toward his little brother was eclipsed by the suffocating guilt at Spencer's unanticipated role in his mom's death; he'd punished himself from the start for putting her in Bennington when she'd pleaded with him not to commit her. But _this_...

Unexpectedly, Jeremiah hastily added- as if knowing his thoughts- "And that's why I freed our moms."

Spencer blinked in surprise and incredulity, shaking his head. "Freed?" he repeated, almost dazed by the abrupt transition from focusing on the cadets to their moms.

"They're better off and so are we." Jeremiah confirmed his own interpratation of his actions, suddenly beaming with renewed pride and happiness. "Everything's better now! When you left your job in LA and moved back to Vegas to be closer to your mom, I realized that she was still holding you back and hurting you- just like my mom was still hurting me. And, the way that they were- drunk or insane- it was clear to me that killing them was the humane thing to do for _everyone_! I was good to them, as gentle as I could be..." he assured adamantly with tenderness, appealing to Spencer for appreciation.

Instead, acute new agony washed Spencer's face and- for once- Jeremiah wasn't so blinded by his delusions and fantasies that he misinterpated the expression. "Oh, I know it hurts right now," he cooed, softly rubbing the back of Spencer's hand with his thumb, "but, eventually, you'll see you're better off and be grateful to me for freeing her!"

Spencer felt his limbs go cold as the blood rushed from them to his core and his eyes were feiry with barely restrained ire. "She's been gone three years; I haven't been grateful a single day." he whispered, his control momentarly lost as his emotions got the better of him.

Jeremiah's smile faltered at the contempt in his voice but only briefly, quickly rationalizing it away and pushing past it, cemented in his belief that Spencer needed and loved him even if he hadn't realized it yet. "That's because you didn't know. Now you understand, and you can start to heal and let go." he reassured. "We're together, and everything's going to be perfect now!" he grinned, the delight at his fantasy of their future radiating from him.

Recovered slightly as his head yelled at him to play along and his empathy for Jeremiah reasserted as he saw the pain masked in his eyes, Spencer was silent, unable to respond in any sincere way. For both of their sakes, he wished what he said was true- that the past could be blotted out and the future as happy as Jeremiah imagined it being- but it wasn't and never would be- so instead he looked away, turning the attention to the profilers handcuffed in the chairs.

Morgan shifted in his chair as Spencer's eyes met his. _Be careful_, the agent silently warned Spencer. _Don't offend him, don't provoke him! _Morgan hoped the young man somehow understood him, but it was doubtful. All the same, the psychologist had restrained himself fairly well so far- despite Jeremiah inadvertantly goading him several times- and the way he was handling the UnSub put Morgan slightly at ease, even if it didn't banish his concerns. If there was one thing he knew, it was that he didn't want to end up in a bloodbath.

"What about them?" Spencer asked neutrally, trying to figure out why the agents were there and why they'd been kept alive so far. "Are you going to kill them?"

Jeremiah seemed a little surprised at the divertment but he glowed anew at the suggestion. "No," he stated, filled with anticipation, "_you_ are."

Spencer looked at Jeremiah once again. "Me?" he repeated, dubious and horrified at the thought.

"Yes!" Jeremiah confirmed exuberantly. "You can't imagine the elation you'll feel when you know you have the power to stop _anything_ and _anyone_ that would hurt you! Oh, it's _amazing_, Spencer_-_ you'll never be a victim again!" he expounded.

Gideon, watching the exchange, was momentarily surprised that Jeremiah would give up his role as protector and guardian and incite Spencer to defend himself- those roles were precious to the young killer, trying him Spencer and keeping the older brother dependent on him in Jeremiah's eyes. His confusion gave way, however, as he looked more penatratingly at the young man and realized that this wasn't about inabling Spencer to kill at all, but was a bonding excercise. Jeremiah believed it would erradict any hatred his brother had for what he'd done and provide the final justification for his actions, absolving him. Once Spencer killed, Jeremiah would never have to fear losing his hero and lifeline, both living outside the law and having only each other.

The rest of the team put the pieces together more slowly, but there was a quick light of understanding in Spencer's eyes as he, too, grasped why Jeremiah had gone through the effort of capturing the FBI agents.

"But," Spencer glanced at the team again and then, smiling slightly at the younger man, shrugged, "they didn't really _do_ anything to me. They didn't hurt me- they tried to _help_ me." he reasoned.

Shock and indignation swept over Jeremiah's face, painting it crimson. "_Didn't hurt you?_ They arrested you! They dragged you out in handcuffs in front of your neighbors and humilated you; they cut up your feet and interrogated you! How can you say they were trying to _help_ you?" he demanded, angry- at the profilers, not Spencer- and searching him for realization of the truth.

Choosing his words carefuly and not wanting to seem too eager to defend the team, Spencer waited a hesitant beat before replying subserviantly. "They didn't _mean_ to cut up my feet- that was an accident. And they only arrested me because all of the evidence pointed to me and our profiles are so similiar; can you really blame for not being able to tell us apart?" he asked, smiling warmly as he stroked Jeremiah's ego. "They don't know me like you do- how could they?"

Jeremiah was conflicted, torn between pleasing Spencer and satisfying his own need to avenge the wrongs they'd comitted. "They need to be punished!" he declared vehemently, consternated.

"But the punishment should fit the crime." Spencer coaxed, careful not to disagree with him. "They're only real crime was ignorance... Do you really think that warrants death?" he asked softly, earnestly seeking consideration and an answer from the other man.

Jeremiah's mouth tightened unhappily and he glared at the FBI agents. "They ruined everything." he whispered petulantly.

"No, no they didn't." Spencer corrected, squeezing Jeremiah's hand reassuringly, trying not to be sickened by it as the thought once again flitted through his mind, _he killed my mom_. "I'm still here; we're still together. They can't change what's going to happen with us."

Looking at Spencer, some light finally returned to Jeremiah's eyes and they softened at the warmth of the words, his focus taken off from the FBI as he felt Spencer's thumb stroke the back of his hand. He'd wanted this for so long...

A smile pulled his lips at last. "Of course... you're right." Jeremiah aquisced, ready to do anything to make his brother and hero happy. "They'll be punished- and we'll do it together- but they'll live, knowing what they've done, and that they can never part us."

Relief swept Spencer while at the same time he swallowed hard chunks that rose in his throat, but he continued to rub Jeremiah's hand and smile, not letting either the feeling of relief or disgust show. He wasn't oblivous to the tension that melted off from the team, however, even if was only seen out of the periphery of his vision, J.J.'s face relaxing and a fraction of the rigidity in Hotch's shoulders falling off.

It was one obstical down... one to go.

...

Leiutenants Maddison and Perry- the officers sent by Wallace to check out the sanitarium that the BAU had been headed to- strolled around Dr. Reid's office, nothing seeming out of the ordinary but taking care to be thurough. Perry stopped in front of the desk, picking up a sticky note with an address jotted on it.

"Hey, Maddison," Perry called, pulling his partner away from her casual interview with Dr. Ritman, "I think there's something you need to see."

Joining him, Maddison's gaze traveled down to the note Perry was holding and read it, then looked up. Eyes meeting, there was a moment of silent communication before either spoke, the tall bruenette placing her hands on her hips with a deep breath as she glanced back at the doctor meaningfully.

"Well, he's got a car... that might be where he's heading." she speculated, having learned with her partner a few minutes ago from Dr. Ritman that the suspect had been to the sanitarium. It was likely that Dr. Reid had somehow managed to abduct the missing FBI team and that, if they found him, they might fight the agents as well. Hopefully, before it was too late. "I'll call Wallace." Maddison stated stiffly, her chest tight, she had a bad feeling about this.

Wallace nodded eagerly, scribbling the address on a pad quickly and repeating it back to Leiutenant Maddison to make sure it was correct. "Anything else?" he asked. With a negative reply and promise to keep Wallace updated if anything more turned up, the line disconnected and the petite officer closed his phone, putting it back into his pocket as he marched across the busy bullpen.

...

"Don!" Wallace called to Hope when he neared.

Turning away from several uniformed men, the sheriff regarded him anxiously, his face pensive. "Yeah?" he asked, voice edged with the stress he was feeling. This suspect was on his last nerve; he was chaffed that Reid had escaped police custody right under his nose- and at his _own_ station, no less- and was becoming increasingly upset at the danger the BAU team was in. Hope had requested them, and that made them his responsibility in his book. He didn't dare to hope for a pleasant ending to this whole mess or that it would be wrapped up with a bow.

However, the excitement on Wallace's face made him straighten minutely in expectation.

"We may have a location on Reid." Wallace reported, handing Hope the pad.

He took it and glanced down at it long enough to read what was written on it, then looked back at Wallace. "How sure are you?" he demanded.

Wallace shook his head. "We can't be- but that address was found on Reid's desk in his office and Maddison was informed by a colleague of his that he _was_ at the sanitarium less than an hour ago and borrowed her car." he related what he'd been told rapidly, knowing time was of the essence.

"There wasn't any sign of Hotch or his team?" Hope confirmed, his heart starting to quicken and his mind already racing with half-formed plans.

"According to the hospital workers Maddison and Perry talked to, they never arrived at Bennington. Reid was alone." Wallace answered.

There were a lot of holes still left, but Hope had heard enough. "Alright." he stated softly to himself and then turned around sharply, barking loudly to the room full of officers and detectives so that he could be heard over the deafening commotion. "Listen up!" he bellowed, gaining the attention of his men, and slowly the room quieted, save for the persistently ringing phones. "We've got a possible lead on our suspect. I want everyone armed and in their cars in ten minutes! We do this by the book and you follow my orders _to the letter_- no screw-ups on this one! I don't want a team of dead FBI agents on my hands!" he commanded briskly.

The address finished, the bullpen broke out into a flury of new activity and chaos as officers rushed to finish tasks and gear up, in the dark about what was going on but assuming they'd be briefed before they headed out.

Hope regarded his right-hand man again. "Wallace, get me SWAT!" he ordered before marching off abruptly to his office. Nodding and feeling the rush of adrenaline, Wallace hurried to comply.


	12. The Last Walk

**Disclaimer-** see first chapter or profile.

**Author's Note-** Standard; see profile.

**Chapter 12- The Last Walk**

Jeremiah had talked in detail about numerous things as he and Spencer ate, settling mostly on the house, which he'd gone to great lengths to make homey and familiar to his brother. His original plan- before the graves had been discovered- was for them to live there together in quiet and peace, but that was no longer an option and now he intended to head for the Mexican border to disappear for a while. Spencer nodded and commented appropriately but he was mostly silent through the meal, forcing himself to chew and swallow as his mind raced over the recently revealed truths and what needed to be done now.

Jeremiah was still going on about the house and all the things he'd hoped to do in it with Spencer. At last he sighed. "It's a shame we're going to have to leave. The police will be looking for us, and it won't take too long for them to find this place. I put so much work into it- I really think you'll like it- but I just wish we had more time." He paused, glancing at Gideon, and then hesitantly regarded Spencer again. "He said you would reject me- but you're not going to, are you?"

Jeremiah had never appeared more vulnerable than he did at that moment and Spencer knew his answer could tear him apart in one swift blow. "Jeremiah..." Spencer's reply lingered in the air as he searched for a sincere way to reassure him, the words hard to form. "You're my brother no matter what, and I'm not going to abandon you."

Jeremiah's face washed in relief, a smile stretching broadly as he gazed upon his brother, and he nodded vigorously. "I knew it, I knew you wouldn't!" He shot a smug glare at Gideon before dismissed him entirely.

Spencer, worried about the dwindling time he had left to act before the police arrived and concerned even more about the team getting caught in the crossfire if he didn't get Jeremiah away from them, decided he had to engage what minimal plan he had now. "I know we have to leave soon," he licked his lips as he paused, making the request he was about to form seem tentative, "but I was hoping we could take a walk on the beach. I'd love to see the sunset and be alone with you." he entreated, meeting Jeremiah's eyes and filling his own with hope and doting affection.

Jeremiah smiled as the warmth passed to him, then it faltered. "What about your feet?" he asked, concerned.

Spencer shook his head dismissively. "They'll be fine; I didn't cut them too bad. And it won't be a long walk- I just want to get out on the beach before we have to leave. You wrote once about wanting to watch the sun set over the water with me, didn't you?" he said, and he saw that Jeremiah was pleased that he remembered.

"Yes... The sun's setting now." he acquiesced, but still with some reserve.

"Then let's go." Spencer declared, closing the debate before Jeremiah could change his mind, and stood.

Following his lead, Jeremiah glanced uncertainly at the other man's feet. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Spencer nodded automatically. "Positive. If I want to go back because they hurt, I'll tell you." he promised.

Put somewhat at ease by this, the younger man capitulated at last as Spencer closed the distance between them, and he turned toward the kitchen. "There's a back door this way; it leads out onto the beach." he informed.

Purposefully, Spencer stuffed his hands into his pockets- causing the back of his shirt to rise up slightly- and Morgan's eyes narrowed as they caught sight of the gun tucked into his waistband. The kid was packing? Where did he get a gun- and could he possibly be thinking of using it? While Morgan was glad he had protection if things went south, he loathed the idea that Spencer was deliberately isolating himself with a psychopathic murderer who was obsessed with him. Spencer was going to try to deal with Jeremiah himself but, if the young stalker felt attacked or betrayed at all in the attempt, he'd lash out at him with no less rage than he'd done with his father. Morgan wanted to yell at the younger man for putting himself in that kind of danger but, begrudgingly, he realized that getting Jeremiah out of the house would allow the team to free themselves and provide them with their best chance of stopping him.

However, this was a highly volatile situation and they'd have to act quickly; having an innocent bystander in the middle of it all only made it that much messier.

The two men left, Spencer glancing back quickly at the team before he disappeared, and Morgan grit his teeth as he futilely strained against the handcuffs binding his wrists. The kid was going to get himself killed by trying to save Jeremiah- and it didn't take a genius to figure it out. However, regardless of whether or not he perceived the dangers of his intended actions, Spencer had little to lose and had a lot of guilt weighing on him to make amends for his mother's death.

_Don't do it- it wasn't your fault! Getting yourself killed won't bring her back!_ Morgan silently yelled at him. But he was gone and, a minute later, there was a faint bang as the aforementioned back door closed. Immediately, Prentiss was up and working on Gideon's cuffs and Morgan stifled a sigh of resignation, smothering it with determination to get out on the beach as quickly as possible before anything could go wrong.

"Jeremiah Hart is Spencer's brother?" J.J. wondered in disgust.

"And he's been stalking him all this time." Gideon agreed pensively as he rubbed his newly freed wrists.

Morgan shook his head as Prentiss moved on to him. "That's severely sick."

"His behavior with Spencer is markedly different from how he handled us;" Hotch observed, face grim, "he was direct, cold, and assertive when he was getting us here- completely in control- but with Spencer he's awestruck, almost subservient. We could use that to our advantage." he suggested.

Morgan turned to him, eyes glaring with incredulity. "What? Are you crazy! Spencer should be as far away from this as possible when this goes down." he argued.

Hotch shook his head. "But that's not going to happen, and there's no way that Jeremiah's just going to let him go. Spencer's FBI trained and he's done well so far; we're just going to have to trust him and hope for the best." he countered.

"This guy killed his mother! He's got a cool head now, but what about five minutes from now?" Morgan challenged, his worry not abating. "Spencer's got a gun, making an already unstable situation that much more unpredictable, and if we try to take down Jeremiah with him around, there's no telling what could happen!"

Hotch turned steel eyes on Morgan, ending the conversation. "We don't have a choice." he stated.

Morgan's cold stare was withering, refusing to back down even though he knew it was true, but he didn't say anything.

"He's right." Gideon seconded more calmly and breaking the tension as he rose from his seat. "If Spencer's packing, then at least he's aware of the danger. Hopefully, he'll have sense enough to let us deal with Jeremiah and follow our lead."

"And if he doesn't?" Prentiss prompted as she finished uncuffing J.J., the last to be released, and the team as a whole stood.

Gideon turned and strode towards the hall, abandoning the dining room, and the team rushed to follow him down the dark corridor. "Then we cross that bridge when we get there."

"Prentiss," Hotch piped us, switching topics, "we're going to need our guns. Do you think you can pick the case?" he questioned, glancing at her as they walked.

Prentiss shook her head. "I can't be certain; I'll have to get a better look."

Emerging through the creaking door outside, they piled onto the porch, each relieved to find that Jeremiah hadn't taken the box containing their weapons and stashed it elsewhere while they'd been bound in the dining room. It was still on the small table, closed and unassuming, and Prentiss knelt in front of it as she slid in the pick. Morgan was glancing around at what was visible of the yard for any sign of the young killer or Spencer, wondering anxiously what they were doing right now and what would happen if Prentiss couldn't get the box opened. They couldn't confront Jeremiah unarmed- the end result would surely be disastrous- but when Jeremiah returned to find the team had escaped, his reaction was likely to be just as deadly. Could they drive for help- in Spencer's car, even if they didn't dare to use the SUV?

Possibly, even though they probably wouldn't get back with reinforcements before their escape was discovered. If that happened, would Jeremiah realize Spencer had helped them and lash out? Or would he simply flee with him and leave only an empty house for the team upon their return? There was no knowing, but it was the only viable option if they couldn't get their weapons and Morgan forcibly resigned himself to it.

He needn't have worried, though; Prentiss bit her lip as she worked the pick in the lock and, a minute later, there was a soft click as the case opened. Morgan released a heavy sigh of relief as he clapped an applauding hand on Emily's shoulder. "Girl, if I never say it again, you're priceless!"

Emily grinned as she righted herself and Hotch dug into the case, pulling out the guns and distributing them. "I also do safes and mini-storage units." she joked.

"J.J., call Garcia." Hotch ordered, handing her his cell phone- the only one that still had its battery. "Tell her where we are and that we need backup."

Taking it, she looked at her supervisor, nervous with the realization that she was going to be left behind with the task. "Where are you going?"

"To the beach." Morgan answered, checking the clip of his gun. "If we get Jeremiah out in the open, he won't have any place to run. It's our best chance to end this without it getting messy." he explained.

J.J. was less sure. "Shouldn't you wait for backup?" she demanded, afraid for their safety as they prepared to leave.

Gideon shook his head. "By the time they arrive, it could be too late."

"Spencer's given us our window; we have to take it now." Hotch agreed as he strapped on the ankle holster. Straightening, he looked to the members of his team, receiving short nods from each confirming they were ready. Glancing to J.J., he repeated himself. "Call Garcia." Hotch ordered again, then abruptly walked past her and quickly led the team back into the house.

In what seemed like a second, all four had disappeared and J.J. was left gawking after them. Shaking her head and knowing there was nothing to do but comply, she opened the phone and dialed the familiar number. Her heart was racing as she imagined worst-case scenarios and she tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear as she listened to the ringing of the outgoing call, her head still throbbing painfully from the blow she'd taken only an hour ago. On the second ring, it was blissfully picked up and J.J. didn't wait for a greeting.

"Garcia, it's J.J." she told the technical analyst, who was surely expecting Hotch instead, since it was his phone.

"J.J.?" Garcia repeated, dumbfounded and relieved to hear from her missing team mate. "Are you alright? What happened?"

"I'm fine." J.J. answered, then hastily began to inform her of the turn of events. "Jeremiah Hart is the UnSub. He has a house up at Ventura Lake; the team and I are here now, along with Spencer Reid. We need reinforcements." she ordered succinctly, skipping details in favor of time.

Behind her desk, Garcia nodded, rushing to keep up as she typed on her keyboard and pushing aside the questions flooding her mind. "Ventura Lake?" she repeated. "Sheriff Hope has his whole squad plus SWAT already on the way." she relayed.

_They must have found Spencer's note_, J.J. concluded, welling with gratitude for the young genius's foresight. All the same, apprehension knotted in her chest as she glanced behind her to what was visible of the beach, the setting sun's yellow rays spilling across her face like a clock counting down. The UnSub was on that beach, and her team was rushing towards him; usually the team had flak jackets and was at least semi-protected from the onslaught of bullets or blades, but they were unprepared this time and vulnerable...

To say that J.J. was fearful of what would happen in the next few minutes was a gross understatement.

...

The rhythm of the softly lapping water was pleasantly distracting, each wave splashing on the sandy shore and receding- one after another, without letup or end- and Spencer could almost let himself get lost in it. He wanted to disappear into the lake and forget this awful day, Jeremiah, and the litany of events that had preceded this abominable hour, letting them blur into the hazy sky as he vanished from the world into a place of undeserving respite.

Spencer closed his eyes, shutting out the lake and banishing the thoughts; now was not the time. Not yet. The memories of his mother rushed him, reminding him of his ever-present duties to her, and he knew it would never be good enough and that nothing he ever did would make up for what had happened to her. While he couldn't hold himself accountable for Jeremiah's actions, he'd been the one who put her in the sanitarium and, ultimately, he'd been responsible for her. Now she was gone and he finally knew why- and there was only one thing remaining for him to do.

The wind pulled at his hair, blowing it back as he turned his head to look at his brother, who was merrily fantasizing about their future together. Already in the few minutes of their walk, he'd mentioned half a dozen different vacations he wanted to take and countless mundane activities he was looking forward to doing with Spencer. It brought a pang to his heart to listen to it and see the childish joy on the broken man's face, conflicting emotions colliding inside him without resolution, and he glanced back at the empty beach behind. Only their footprints marred the golden sandy shore, leading back to the house from which they'd left, and he swallowed hard, knowing that the team would be coming soon and he couldn't delay any longer.

Even after all that Jeremiah had done, Spencer had still wanted to give him their walk as empathy, pity, and his own confusion impelled him to show in some small way that Jeremiah wasn't entirely alone or forsaken. He hated this man for killing his mother and all those other men and women- but he also understood what it was to be alone and desperate and, right now, Spencer was desperate to believe that there was still some good in the only blood-relation he had left in the world and that there was hope... as much for himself as for Jeremiah.

"I'm not very fond of Mexico, but it'll be a good place to hang low until some of the heat's gone. Then I was thinking maybe we could head northeast to Vermont, stay there for a little while and see some snow!" Jeremiah suggested, grinning broadly with sparkles dancing in his eyes.

Spencer smiled weakly, the gesture tinged with sorrow. "That... does sound _nice_, Jeremiah- but it's not going to happen." he stated, gently yet firmly making the initial move to dispel the younger man's illusions.

However, if Jeremiah understood the true meaning of the objection, he willfully ignored it. "Well, maybe not Vermont, then- too cold. Colorado's closer anyway and there are still beautiful snow-covered mountains." he amended readily.

"No-" Spencer stopped them with a touch to Jeremiah's arm, turning the younger man to look at him, and he sighed shortly as their gazes met, "you don't understand; I can't go with you."

For a moment, Jeremiah was silent and his face blank with confusion. "What do you mean, you can't go with me?" he repeated, an edge to his voice and his eyes darkening slightly.

Quelling his apprehension, Spencer focused on exuding compassion and trying to reason with the younger man without alienating him. "Jeremiah, you know me better than anyone. Deep down, you must know that this isn't going to end like some dream- sailing off into the horizon and pretending like nothing bad ever happened; it won't make it go away." he reasoned. He took a deep breath and went on. "You killed my mom, Jeremiah, and twenty others. You may have had the very best of intentions, but you _hurt_ me!"

Tears welled in Jeremiah's eyes and he shook his head ardently. "No, _no!_ I _freed_ you- I'd never hurt you!"

"But you _did!_" Spencer countered, daring to raise his voice slightly as pain assaulted him. "I know it seemed like it was the only way and that you only wanted to help, but you didn't have any right to kill them. I want to you help you," he continued, almost plaintively as he stared at his little brother, "but I can't do it the way you want me to."

Jeremiah's expression washed with shock, horror, and anger and he took a step back from Spencer. "You're rejecting me- just like they said you would!" he accused.

Spencer shook his head. "No, I told you I'd never abandon you and I never will! But if I go with you, I'll be a party to murder and _nothing_ will be solved. You can't find what you need out there," he glanced to the water in indication, then back at his brother, "but, if you trust me, I swear I'll do everything I can to protect you." he vowed earnestly.

Perceiving for the first time that the dream he'd clung to for so long was shattering, Jeremiah was suffocated by the grief of that sudden loss. "But we were supposed to live together- just you and me- and be a family and," he sobbed, "and leave all this behind!"

"I know how much you wanted that to happen- it sounds pretty good to me, too. Maybe we can still do that someday," Spencer agreed softly, taking a step closer to Jeremiah and reaching out to touch his arm, "but right now we have to deal with this and fix it the best we can, so that we _can_ move on from it. You want that, don't you?" he coaxed.

"But I didn't do anything wrong!" Jeremiah objected, looking at the man he admired so much and longing for him to understand and validate him.

Restraining himself from speaking too quickly or too forcefully, Spencer swallowed hard against the pain and indignanation that rose at the assertion as he stared at Jeremiah, willing himself to focus on his brother's agony instead and the importance of making him see the truth. "It _was_ wrong, Jeremiah. Some of the people you killed were good, kind people- even if they had faults- and their children miss them! All you wanted to do was to keep those children from going through what we went through- and I'm sure that some are grateful that someone cared enough about what was happening to them to want to stop it- but it still doesn't make it right. You can't solve your problems by killing; sometimes, there's nothing you _can_ do but get through it." he counseled, endeavoring to offer comfort as much as reproof.

Tears glistened in Jeremiah's dark eyes in disbelief and anguish, teeth baring in a hard clench as he fought what he was being told and the collapse of everything he'd held dear. "It's not fair!" he cried petulantly. "You were supposed to understand!"

"I _do_ understand." Spencer assured, pouring honesty and sympathy into every word. "Everything you've been through, everything I've been through... we're a lot more alike than just our blood. I've been there; I've wanted to find my own justice, run away, be somebody else- _any_body else- with a different life and a different future. We can't change the past but we _can_ start over, Jeremiah, and make things right. We can start today; all you have to do is choose."

Jeremiah stared at him, conflicted and pained, and the wind picked up suddenly, pulling at his long hair and cocooning the two men together in an unearthly and immortal embrace as the world around them was muted and blurred into nothingness. The decision hung between them and their complicated, woeful history beat behind the silent tears and wishes of both brothers... but then, from the corner of Spencer's eye, something flickered.

Without turning, he knew it was the team rushing up the beach, but Jeremiah was stunned as he faced his former captives coming towards him with guns held at the ready and aimed at him. Shocked and livid, he glared at Spencer with all the hatred of betrayal and shoved him aside, pulling out a gun from his waistband and pointing it at the nearing agents.

"FBI, _freeze!_" Morgan yelled as the gap closed.

Before Jeremiah could fire, Spencer stepped in front of him, blocking any shot the agents had and placing himself inches from the nozzle of Jeremiah's gun, his hands raised non-threateningly.

"_Move_, Spencer!" Jeremiah shouted.

The team came to a stop twenty feet from them, fanning out to partially encircle the two men, and Morgan once again gained a clear target of the murderer. Adrenaline raced through Spencer's veins and his heart pounded with fear, acutely aware of the weapon pointed at him and of those that surrounded him and his brother, and he swallowed hard at the possible ways this could end.

Spencer's reply was resolute, though his voice shook. "_No_."

The gun trembled in Jeremiah's hand and his teary eyes flashed with anger as he repeated the command. "_Move!_"

"I _can't!_" Spencer refused once more. "You saved me that night on the football field; now it's my turn!"

Morgan, watching the exchange and loathing Spencer's proximity to the unstable killer and the pistol aimed inches from his chest, tightened his grip on his weapon. "Drop the gun!" he ordered, concealing his fear. "_Now!_"

Jeremiah didn't waver as he stared at his former hero. "You freed them!" he accused, voice filled with utter hurt and loneliness. "I thought you were on _my_ side- not _theirs!_"

"They have nothing to do with this!" Spencer responded automatically. "They can't change what's going to happen with us- they never could. I'm your brother; I won't leave you, I won't turn my back on you the way everyone else has all your life. I care about you and I want to help you! I know how much you've dreamed of running away and how much that dream's meant to you- it's been the only way out of the darkness that you can imagine- but you're not alone anymore and you don't have to fight anymore!" Licking his lips, he slowly began to lower his right hand. "See?" Cautiously, he pulled out the hidden gun from the back of his pants, holding it away from his body by the hilt. Jeremiah's gaze carefully tracked his movements with uncertainty as Spencer gently tossed it aside into the sand, then returned his eyes to his older brother's with a tinge of tentative hope.

"See?" Spencer repeated. "We don't have to fight anymore. Trust me, and I'll take care of you." he coaxed. "I won't let anything bad happen to you- and I'll make sure you get the help you need."

The battle waging inside Jeremiah stormed across his young face, tears streaking down his cheeks and his teeth grit, brow furrowed as conflicting lines of thought collided with one another and crashed against a hard wall of emotion. "They'll lock me up." he finally said, almost choking on the words. "They'll put me away with bad people; they won't understand!"

"_I_ understand!" Spencer readily comforted, his pounding heart causing him to breathe more rapidly. "And I'll help _them_ to understand." he promised, thinking of an insanity plea but knowing it would be hard to pull off. Regardless, Jeremiah needed more than a simple prison cell for any chance of recovery.

Seeing the indecision still holding fast to Jeremiah, Spencer decided to try another tactic. "Jeremiah-"

He was cut off abruptly as the sound of engines and the flashing of police lights caught their attention, making both men turn their heads sharply to look at a distant but rapidly approaching caravan of police cruisers speeding up the beach behind them. Spencer's heart went cold.

Time was up.

Jeremiah regarded his brother again, his face pinched with grief and desolation. "It's over!" he cried, the gun shaking in his trembling hand.

"No- no it's not!" Spencer hastily countered.

Morgan anxiously took a half-step forward but stopped himself, his jaw flexed with tension as he steadied his aim on Jeremiah but knowing it was risky to fire on him when a reflex reaction from Jeremiah could put a bullet in Spencer's chest before he went down. _"If you get him into a corner while he's armed, he may turn the weapon on himself,"_ J.J.'s words at the debriefing echoed in his ears. But what if he wasn't willing to go without his brother? The very real possibility sent an image flashing through Morgan's mind of the two men lying dead on the beach, trails of crimson washing into the water, and the agent zeroed his attention on the killer's body language, alert for the slightest sign that he was about to take his life and Spencer's.

"Jeremiah, if you shoot them, we won't be together." Spencer continued, attempting a last-ditch effort to talk his brother down. "If you shoot me, we won't be together. And if you shoot yourself, then you'll be leaving me alone- and I don't want to be alone!" he admitted, terrified of what might be about to happen in the next few seconds.

Jeremiah's eyes softened with the pain and horror of the notion of abandoning Spencer the way that their father had, and he shook his head gently in silent denial that he would ever hurt Spencer. It was clear that- as delusional as he was- Jeremiah was still capable of following the distraught reasoning of his older brother. Yet the gun remained raised as the police caravan drew dangerously close to the six men and women on the beach, fear and uncertainty paralyzing him.

Refusing to break eye contact with Jeremiah and knowing that, as soon as the cops arrived, someone would panic and all control would be lost and death would follow, desperation caused tears to stream down Spencer's cheeks. "I don't want to lose you!" he cried. "But if you don't put the gun down, you're going to die! _Please_," he begged, throwing all the appeal he had into the entreaty, "let this end _and put the gun down_. Trust me!"

Breathlessly, Spencer waited for a response as Jeremiah quaked, the younger man staring at him with a motley of thoughts and emotions racing across his features, and the gun wavered in the air between them. It could go off- so easily, so quickly, so unintentionally- and Spencer wouldn't even hear the blast before his life was extinguished, but he didn't look away from Jeremiah's eyes or try to back away, instead standing his ground and knowing that whatever happened, happened to them both. His chest tight with the pounding of his heart and fast breathing, he waited... hoping... fearing.

Clarity slowly started to wash into Jeremiah's eyes as a decision of some sort was at last reached- for better or for worse- and unnamable sorrow and regret fell over him as he stared at his brother, his hero. "I've always trusted you." he stated, his voice soft and earnest.

Unexpectedly, the gun lowered, pointing none-threateningly toward the ground.

Disbelief numbed Spencer as the gun was suddenly released, falling with a dull thud into the sand as Jeremiah smiled at his brother wanly through the black scars of a horrific childhood and the pain of shattered dreams, the FBI agents rushing from behind Spencer to seize the smaller man. Jeremiah didn't even struggle as he was forced to his knees and his arms wrenched back to be bound in cuffs, his eyes not leaving Spencer's.

Spencer couldn't move or look away as tears slipped down Jeremiah's cheeks, the agents frisking him and reading him his rights as they secured the killer, and a thousand thoughts and emotions that Spencer had pushed aside in order to do what was needed to be done began to break though the dam of shock, transfixing him on the sight of the tears. He felt a gentle hand on his arm, pulling him out of his stupor, and he turned to see Hotch standing next to him with a worried expression. It took Spencer a second to realize Hotch had asked him if he was okay.

Swallowing dryly, he nodded but his eyes became hot again as he glanced at his brother. "I will be." he whispered.

Realizing Spencer needed to be alone, Hotch left him as the caravan arrived, rushing to the sheriff getting out of a cruiser to update him on the situation and fend off the cops from laying hand on the former suspect before they neared. Spencer was aware of this but paid no attention to anything going on around him, instead focused on Jeremiah as he was raised to his feet by Morgan and Gideon, and he dared to take a step towards him.

"I meant what I said," Spencer told the younger Reid, "I'll be there for you; we'll get through this."

Jeremiah smiled sadly and nodded his agreement. "I know. If there's one thing our father gave us, it was tough skin."

The heartbreaking truth was felt by all four men who heard it and, Morgan's jaw flexing, Jeremiah was led past Spencer to one of the waiting cars behind and loaded into the back. Spencer turned and watched, although he didn't move from his spot. Long minutes later, the engine was started and the vehicle sped off down the beach, churning up sand behind and carrying the young killer away. The wind picked up, pulling at Spencer's hair as he stared at the cruiser disappearing into the fading light of day.


	13. Mobius

**Disclaimer-** see first chapter or profile.

**Author's Note-** see profile.

**Previously-** The team was called to Vegas for a case involving both men and women being killed over a period of years- usually but not always couples. Reid's mom was one of the victims. It was later discovered that the victims were being killed because they'd been deemed unfit parents by the UnSub, either because of mental defect, addiction, or molestation of their children. It was also discovered that Reid has a tragic history with the FBI academy in which he was brutalized and then expelled, thus explaining why he isn't a member of the BAU, and that those responsible are all now dead. When his dad was identified as the first victim, Reid was arrested, but he soon escaped. The team went in pursuit of him, only to be captured by the real UnSub, Jeremiah Heart, revealed to be Reid's half-brother who is obsessed with him. Deducing who and where the UnSub was and that the team was in trouble, Reid left the address for the police to find and went to save the team, who were being held at a lake house. Upon arriving, Reid helped the team to escape their bonds and led Jeremiah out to the beach, where he attempted and finally suceeded in talking him into giving himself up to the authorities when they arrived, rather than go down in a hail of bullets. Jeremiah was arrested and Reid watched on as he was taken away. And now- **_finally_**- the conclusion...

**Chapter 13- Mobius**

The station was loud, banging with the ruckus of detectives, reporters, and the family members of victims, the shouting and ringing phones reverberating in the artificially cooled air and vying for dominance in a never-ending battle. Sweat, coffee, and ink clogged every breath while the floor and walls drummed with footsteps and the clattering of people racing about the station, trying to tame the chaos.

Spencer was oblivious to it all as he sat in a hard plastic chair in a small corner office, seemingly forgotten as his brother was processed and questioned while hungry news reporters- forced outside- anxiously tried to get a piece of the action. The headlines would be bold, the clips of Jeremiah being led into the station replayed on the news for days and nights to come until the excitement wore down; _the Piker Woods killer had been brought in, and it wasn't the original suspect that had escaped police custody only hours ago. There had been a kidnapping, there had been a confession, and- added to this- there was also a connection between the killer and the original suspect._

No doubt, the media was swarming and salivating at the prospect of such a story and Spencer had been mobbed upon his arrival at the station and bombarded with questions as microphones were shoved in his face. He'd refused to comment and had plowed through the crowd with the aid of Gideon, Jeremiah being escorted behind by Hotch and Morgan. Spencer had been taken into an interrogation room where he'd then given his statement, recounting the events following his escape with precise detail and answering the questions asked with honesty and accuracy, though it pained and confused him to think of it. With determination- and more than an ounce of practice- he'd fought against the grief pressing in on him from all sides until the procedure was mercifully finished. Officially, he was no longer a suspect and the charges against him had been dropped but Spencer was too shell-shocked to be relieved or grateful or to feel anything at the news other than a deep pang at what had passed.

With the FBI agents busy at various tasks and the detectives finished with him, Hotch had been able to spare only enough time to see to it that he was put into an office as far away from the hub of the mayhem as possible, although that still meant a room flushed against the far end of the bullpen. Spencer didn't care; the noise was inconsequential, the activities of everyone beyond futile and as painful as a papercut amongst fatal wounds with the awareness that they were unable to make any major impact on his life or future at this point. It would take months to determine Jeremiah's sentence, whether or not an insanity plea would be accepted or if his abuse would be factored in, if he'd be charged with the deaths of Markus Ford and the other murdered agents, or if Spencer's testimony would move whatever judge ended up on the case to have leniancy... His heart ached to think that Jeremiah might get the death penalty when Spencer had promised to protect him and that promise was the reason Jeremiah had given himself up. Even after everything he'd done, Spencer didn't want to have Jeremiah's blood on his hands as well.

So much death, so much suffering... Spencer closed his eyes tightly, thinking of the hidden history of violence and destruction that had followed him all along that he'd never known about. He _should_ have known! He could have stopped it; he could have saved his mother... how could he have not seen?

The guilty thoughts assaulted him, even while dimly aware of their faultiness in a rational but ignored part of his brain and his chest constricted with agony and outrage that was compounded with incomprehension of how this could be real. While his mind could put the pieces together of how it had happened with stabbing ease, his heart couldn't make sense of it no matter how hard he tried. Some days being a genius didn't matter and all the facts and statistics and knowledge he possessed couldn't help. Not enough, least of ways, to provide anything but a weak clinical numbness at the edge of his consciousness as reality was automatically broken down into its categories- how many serial killers had siblings, had been sexually abused, had justified killing as a vigilante, had a fixation on another person- and just as quickly the facts were viciously bludgeoned by his tumultuous emotions. It didn't matter. He wanted it to, wanted it to bring comfort and order and a reason for his suffering and his mother's death and the tragedy of Piker Woods, but it was inadequate as his mind continued to race with facts and his heart stormed with anger and agony.

His hands clenched around a now-cold cup of coffee, his knuckles white and nails digging into his flesh as he silently contained the storm...

"Hey," a voice spoke softly above him and a hand was placed on his shoulder. Spencer jumped in alarm, eyes shooting open to look up at Morgan for a panicked moment before his heart slowed, registering the gentleness on the now somewhat familiar face and that there was no danger present. The hand was removed and Morgan shifted, studying the other man carefully. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." he apologized.

Spencer shook his head in refusal but swallowed hard nonetheless before he replied. "No, it's alright." he assured, feeling a fresh wave of guilt for being at the root of everything Morgan and his team had been through in Vegas; he'd made them chase him and they'd almost been killed.

Morgan pulled out a chair and sat down next to him. "I thought you might be hungry- your last meal wasn't so great." he said, offering a sandwich from a vender to him.

Spencer took it but made no move to open it. "Thanks. At least I had a meal; are you sure you don't want it?" he asked, although the question was mostly polite and- subconsciously- a means to delay meaningful conversation.

"I had something." Morgan replied, dismissing the subject. His eyes, however, were piercing as he scrutinized Spencer with undisguised concern.

Uncomfortable, Spencer averted his gaze to the sandwich he held, picking at the plastic wrapping nervously, and he struggled for something to say that would divert Morgan from the case, but all his thoughts were tangled with recent events.

"How are you doing?" Morgan asked softly, a demand for only the truth laced in his tone.

But Spencer didn't know how to answer, the automatic response that he was okay pathetic even in his own mind and anything else that would be honest was too complicated to communicate. Instead, he shrugged, his gaze unsettled as tears pricked his eyes with pain that was only now beginning to surface through the shock, but he refused to give into it. He knew, after all... "I'll get there." he stated, turning to Morgan and smiling half-heartedly as he met the other man's gaze resolutely.

It was the best Morgan could hope for and he was glad for the strength he heard from the other man.

"Thank you for everything you've done." Spencer added, genuine appreciation and the feeling of being in debt reflected on his features.

Morgan smiled slightly. "We couldn't have done it without you." he reminded encouragingly.

But apparently, it wasn't the right thing to say as Spencer's face fell. "Without me... none of this would have happened." he accused himself bitterly.

Flashing with surprise and anger that the kid- who had been through so much and asked for none of it- could blame himself, Morgan's expression became stern. "This is _not_ your fault." he countered vehemently. "Anything Jeremiah did, he chose to do himself- not you. Don't go putting this on yourself!"

Spencer shook his head, swallowing hard against tears and guilt as he looked at anywhere but the profiler. "He killed for _me_. He was there the entire time," sitting across from him in the support group, "and he took my mom. I put her away..." Anguish stopped him from going on, but his thoughts didn't quit, recounting the way his mom had begged him not to put her in Bennington that day, the letters from his secret admirer he'd received throughout the years that he'd brushed off, meeting Jeremiah as a little boy on a football field but never connecting the dots...

"You gave your mother the help she needed," Morgan reminded, "and Jeremiah killed for himself, to satisfy his own needs and delusions and to make himself important to you in his mind. There is no way you could have known what he was or planned for what he did; you are _not_ responsible."

Spencer wanted to believe him, to have the guilt lift, and he searched Morgan for a lie- that he was just telling him what he wanted to hear- but found none. All the same, he knew he'd had a part in the deaths of over twenty people and couldn't be absolved so easily and he kept searching for a way he could have prevented it in his mind.

"Hey, listen to me," Morgan ordered when Spencer's gaze drifted away again, continuing only when he had the younger man's hazel eyes fixed on his, "you saved my life today... and the lives of some of the people I care about most in the world. I've seen a lot of bad guys and a lot of not-so-bad guys that do terrible things because life gets to be too much, but you are not one of those people- and you are _not _your brother. You and Jeremiah may have a lot in common- tragedy and suffering and disappointment and an absence of love where it should _always_ be- but Jeremiah is the one who broke and started killing. Not you. He made justifications and decisions based on those justifications. But today on that beach, you had every reason to hate and try to take vengeance on him- you were armed and he was vulnerable- and instead you talked him down and saved a life some would say didn't deserve saving." His voice rose with admiration and compassion, trying to breach the walls of Spencer's guilt as he studied the young doctor with a pang for all he'd been through and was _still_ putting himself through. "Whatever commonalities there are between you and Jeremiah, they end at that decision; to take a life or not to."

Spencer's chest constricted as he listened and his self-berating and hateful thoughts were tempered by reason, however temporarily, and only the grief of being so powerless remained; if it wasn't his fault- if none of the terrible things that had happened to him had been because of some error or oversight on his part- then how was he to combat it, to prevent further injury in the future? Or would he always be subject to the hand of chance? Would the only thing he'd be able to do be to overcome it afterward, to rise up again every time he was knocked down and soldier on with his wounds and emotional handicaps? He wouldn't let himself be crushed- not this time, even though he had no idea how he was going to make it through- but he didn't want to live that way, only surviving. He wanted more; he wanted to fight back...

There had to be a way.

Watching Spencer carefully and reading the emotions that played across his face, Morgan allowed the silence for a minute before pressing the younger man- a little hopefully, a little desperately, and determined not to leave here until Spencer knew that it wasn't his fault. "Tell me you understand that." he demanded gently.

Slowly and almost indiscernibly, Spencer nodded after a brief hesitation, his eyes watery but a faint smile showing acceptance and gratitude for Morgan's support.

The agent's posture relaxed slightly, even though he was aware it would be a long road back for Spencer and permanent damage would remain for him in the scar tissue of his heart and mind. But scars could teach, Morgan well knew, thinking briefly of his own past with Carl Buford. The youth mentor had wrought unmentionable devastation on an already maligned existence only a few years after Morgan had seen his father gunned down, the one tragedy inadvertently paving the way for the other as he'd become the man of the house at a tender age and felt all the responsibilities over his mother and sisters. However, Morgan had survived and pulled himself out of the mire, dedicating himself to standing up for others like the little boy he'd been even while knowing how easily it could have gone the other way, giving in to the easier road of violence and despair. It was a matter of choice and character- two things that neither Carl Buford nor anyone else had ever been able to rob him of- and he was all but certain that Spencer had what it took to make the best of things.

The psychologist shifted nervously beside Morgan as something visibly weighed on his mind, swallowing dryly and licking his lips as he gathered himself for some purpose. "Can- can I ask you something?" Spencer queried hesitantly.

Observing his nervousness, Morgan casualy shrugged in an effort to put the other man at ease. "Shoot."

"Your job… it's pretty bad, isn't it? The things you see?" Spencer tentatively prompted.

The black agent's brow furrowed but he nodded. "Yeah. It can be."

"Then-" Spencer's flow hitched and he took a breath, quickly reorganizing his thoughts, "then how do you get through it? How do you face all the things you have to face- the atrocities man commits against itself and the suffering and the, the darkness- and push through it every day when you know tomorrow you'll have to face it again?"

Hearing the question for what it really was, Morgan straightened slightly with authority and firmly held the younger man's eyes. "Because my life isn't about the darkness," he countered, "it's about the light. Facing the darkness means it doesn't win and, when you challenge it, you can see the light;" he told Spencer sagely, compassion and understanding coloring his words, "I see it in knowing Jeremiah Heart will never kill again, I see it in the closure twenty-one families are getting… and I see it in _you_."

Spencer smiled at that but it vanished quickly, his worries fixed. "What about the days when you can't see the light? What do you do then?" he pressed.

Morgan sighed, seeing those future days for Spencer in his mind and recalling his own and the many still to come. "Then I look harder." he answered. "If all else fails, I remember other places I've seen the light, I count my blessings, and I trust that tomorrow will be a better day."

It was honest and without a sugar-coating or false assurances, but it was what Spencer needed to hear and he was grateful for it. All the same, the weight of what was to come didn't leave him- no one could lift that burden no matter how hard they tried or what they did- and Spencer floundered for some kind of response as he contempated the advice. But, before he could speak, he was cut off by a light knock on the door and it was abruptly opened.

Hotch appeared on the other side.

"Sorry if I'm interrupting." he appologised as he stepped in. "I need to talk to Dr. Reid about something."

As his supervisor's eyes met his, Morgan got the silent message that Hotch wanted to talk to Dr. Reid _in private_ and he drew a deep breath as he stood up. "I'll get you some fresh coffee." he told Spencer, gently excusing himself as he took the cold up of coffee from its owner's hands. Spencer smiled at him appreciatively- not fooled but not insulted either- and Morgan turned and left, trading a glance with Hotch as he passed.

Hotch closed the door as soon as he was gone but didn't move immediately from his spot, studying the young doctor for a minute before slowly crossing over to him and sitting down in the chair Morgan had just vacated.

"How's Jeremiah?" Spencer quickly asked before the unit chief could begin.

Thrown, Hotch's reply was short and just shy of neutral, not completely sure what Spencer's feelings towards his brother were at the moment. "He's gotten a lawyer, so his rights are protected." he answered carefully.

If he was comforted by the information, Spencer didn't show it as his gaze turned distant and to the floor. "He's never going to be free again." he stated flatly.

Realizing the younger man needed some kind of reassurance that he'd done the right thing, Hotch decided to tell him what he knew even though it wasn't yet a certainty. "I think the DA's going to be willing to play ball in order to avoid an insanity plea and a drawn-out trial that'll expose Jeremiah's sympathetic history and the less-than flattering characters of most of his victims." he related professionally but with notable optomism and compassion. "There are psychiatric programs in some prisons; his lawyer will make sure he gets into one as part of the plea bargain. He'll spend the rest of his life behind bars but he'll avoid the death penalty and, if he gets the help he needs, he may eventually find freedom from his past he'd know otherwise." he informed warmly, offering hope.

Comforted by this, Spencer looked with gratitude at the agent, aware as only someone unused to acts of kindness would be that it wasn't part of Hotch's job to cater to the emotions of the UnSub's relatives. "Thanks." he said softly, smiling at Hotch, then added; "I'm sorry for breaking out. I-" he sighed heavily as remorse and shame slammed into him again, "I could have gotten you all killed."

Hotch hesitated, unable and unwilling to argue the point but not believing it was the right time to lecture him. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't understand why you did it. That error aside, you did good out there today, and what I wanted to talk to you about was your career with the FBI." he revealed, putting the conversation back on track.

Spencer straightened, confused. "My career?"

The response was not unexpected but Hotch didn't address the question in the other man's eyes right away. "An agent that can normally handle things very well under pressure can become unpredictable if the situation gets personal, but you kept a cool head and remained in control on the beach. You obviously have accademic skills suited to profiling and you've demonstrated you can apply them in the field; we could use someone like you." he replied, showing the logic behind such a decision.

Spencer still didn't understand; "I was expelled." he pointed out.

"I put in a call." Hotch readily informed him. He paused as he watched Spencer's reaction to this, the young doctor straightening further and his eyes widening slightly in disbelief. "I talked to a few people, including Agent Lopez. Your case is going under review and I'm confident that your expulsion is going to be overturned." he stated, giving the impression that it was already a done deal. "You'll have to do a refresher course and finish up the week you missed," he continued, "but there shouldn't be any problems."

Stunned at the unexpected offer, Spencer didn't know how to reply and sat silently, reeling as he tried to figure out if he even still wanted to join the BAU after everything that had happened. "Thanks." he finally managed. "You didn't have to do that." And Spencer certainly didn't understand _why_ the profiler had done that. Pity, perhaps?

Reading Spencer's hesitation, Hotch felt the need to make it clear he wasn't trying to pressure the young man or atone for the bureau's past errors, although the latter was- in part- somewhat true. "Considering your history with the academy, it's understandable if it's not something you're interested in anymore-" he began.

"No!" Spencer cut him off, surprising himself at the force of the reaction. He hesitated. "It's just... I didn't think it was possible anymore." he explained. His gaze became far off as he looked away. "And the timing of it..."

The timing couldn't have been worse, Hotch silently acknowledged. "It wouldn't have to be immediate." he clarified sympathetically. "Obviously you have a lot to deal with right now, but the door's open whenever you're ready... _If_ it's something you still want."

Spencer was silent for a long minute as he considered it, shoulders heavy and head bowed with a thousand colliding thoughts, before sighing softly. "It was my dream to join the BAU..." he nostalgically admitted with a faint hint of a smile, his eyes turning to Hotch.

Reassured he wasn't opposed outright to the proposition, Hotch decided to drive home the invitation. "I want you on my team." He stated firmly.

Spencer looked at him with renewed shock at the declaration but didn't say anything and Hotch continued.

"You were _supposed_ to be on my team 5 years ago; I think it's still the right place for you to be."

Spencer's brow knitted with uncertainty "Even with everything that's happened?" he questioned. When he saw that the agent didn't understand what he meant and was taking it a different way, he hesitated briefly before trying to explain. "I'm not used to people knowing so much about my personal life... and history."

Of course, Hotch realized silently, the younger man was private by nature- and with good reason- but he also knew that his reserve was flawed. "Not to sound callous, but I'm afraid your history is going to become a public matter rather quickly, given the situation." He pointed out. "And my team and I don't look down on you for what you've been through; we respect the strength it takes to survive the ordeals you've faced. Being exposed isn't always a bad thing," he counseled gently and earnestly, if nothing else not wanting Spencer to keep things bottled up inside of him. "Especially if it helps other people to get close and shoulder some of your burdens; whether or not you join the team, you should know that."

Spencer smiled appreciatively, although there was sorrow in it. His gaze drifted away as he reflected on events that would take months- maybe years- to sort out and make himself right with and considered the job he was being offered, whether he'd be able to handle it anymore or how difficult even getting out of bed might be in the coming days. It was exhausting and troubling to think of what lay ahead, yet the dream he'd harbored of being a profiler- what now seemed like a liftetime ago- was still nestled in the recesses of his heart, relinquished but not forgotten, and the tiniest hope stirred within him despite the daunting circumstances. In the very least, the prospect was more than he ever would have dared hope for and, the appreciative smile still in place, he regarded Hotch.

"Well, it won't be right away..." he began uncertainly, far from certain what the makeup of his future would be like or what he would ultimately choose, "but I'll let you know."

It was enough for Hotch, who smiled back; if he was worth his salt as a profiler, then he was sure that, in time, Spencer would make his way back to where he was supposed to be all along... With a final, comforting squeeze to the young man's shoulder, he stood.

"I have some work to do," he told him, "but someone will be along in a while to take you home."

Spencer nodded mutely, gazing up at Hotch with expressive eyes. With a pang that there wasn't more he could do for the young man, the agent turned and left Spencer to chase his answers and absolutions; it would be a long and difficult hunt.

The door closed behind Hotch and Spencer stared blankly at it for a moment before swallowing dryly, his gaze briefly sweeping the room looking for something to hold on to- but there was nothing- and he slowly drew a deep breath, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes, trying to center himself and bring the world to order. The images of his life played out in his mind like a broken projecter, in no particular order- most of it real, some of it imagined. As his chest tightened, he told himself he could handle it, he could get through the pain and guilt and figure out some way to deal with all the terrible things that had happened. If there was any consolation to be found in the cripling revelations, it was that at least he knew now what had happened to his mom, knew for sure now that she was gone, that her death had been quick and painless and that she hadn't suffered long in her fear. The closure came at a devestating cost and it was a painful and horrifying reality he now faced, full of obsticles and terrible truths, but his mom had shown him how much was possible and had taught him true strength by her example, by the courage she'd demonstrated in her turbulent life that was, in so many respects, beyond her control. For that, he'd always be grateful.

A small smile touched his lips at the thought of her, the agony of her loss acute but not destroying the love and warmth that had been given. The smile faded quickly and was replaced by tears the pricked the corners of his closed eyes, encountering a promise left in the wake of the devestation, as lamentful as it was reassuring; he'd survive.

Breathing slowly and deeply, time passed without notice in a haze, his mind clouded by events that made seconds seem like hours and hours like seconds, lost in the thicket of the place the eye does not see and caught between conflicting perceptions of reality. In the back of his mind floated Hotch's offer, but he was beyond considering it right now, all his willpower and concentration wrapped up in keeping it together and not losing his grasp on the surreal truth while mustering himself for the coming days. There was no avoiding it, no escaping it; only enduring it. The mere thought was exhausting and he leaned back further against the wall, his eyes ever closed to the harsh light of the invading world as he tried to find some peace in an hour that hurt far too much.

Eventually, Morgan came back in with the coffee; eventually he opened his eyes.

...

_The rest of the night passed in a blur; cameras, questions, and lights flashing as Jeremiah was led from the small station to the state prison; Matthew Faraway coming home to his frantic sister, who embraced him as she proclaimed that they'd caught the killer. The following morning, Spencer traded farewells with the team as they boarded the plane, gratitude and a strange sense of familiarity compelling him to be there for the departure. The bonds that had been formed over the last several days were fledgling but lent hope and ideas of the future, and he stepped back as the jet climbed into the sky, watching it until it disappeared in the clouds._

_In a single instant, Spencer saw the end and the beginning of what would never end altogether and what had truly begun long ago..._

**5 Months Later**

Two black sedans rolled to a stop, tires crunching on the littered pavement. Heat rose up in waves from the road as the feet of the agents touched down on its surface, climbing out of the vehicles. They were in Philadelphia, fresh on a new case.

Morgan took off his glasses as they approached the crime scene, squinting in the sunlight. Three young females had been found hung in the past three months, all in semi-public places. Victim number four was waiting for them in the alley between a laundry mat and a movie-rental store, police cruisers and yellow tape cordoning off the area as onlookers gawked from the bounderies.

Next to him, Spencer pushed a lock of chestnut hair back, inconspicously studying his surroundings and comparing the location to those of the previous murders as he walked. Detective Shore, who had been leading the investigation up till now, greeted them.

"You must be the BAU team." he surmised, a touch of relief in his voice.

Hotch nodded and began the introductions. "I'm Survisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. These are SSA's Jason Gideon, Emily Prentiss..."

Spencer's eyes fell on the young woman hanging from a drainpipe on the outside of the laundry mat wall, her blond hair loose and covering her face but her hands- small with well-manacured nails- were swollen and purple with the collection of blood. His stomach tightened for a moment but he held control over himself and dug past the revulsion, reminding himself to focus on what he'd come there to do, and he began analyizing the crime scene again.

"...our media leison, Jennifer Jereau, and our newest agent, Dr. Spencer Reid." Hotch finished with the faintest hint of pride.

Spencer shook the detective's hand, noting his anxious energy and the lines of worry around his eyes that indicated that he was taking the case personally and that another murder- occuring on the cusp of the BAU's arrival no less- upset him. It was suspicious timing and Spencer had to wonder if it was mere coincidence or if the UnSub knew they were coming and killing this last girl was his way of taunting them. But, since no one outside of Shore's department knew that the FBI were joining in on the investigation, that would mean that the UnSub was a cop. Whether or not Shore had considered the possibility himself was uncertain, but Spencer would have to discuss it with the team later on privately.

"I'm glad you're here." the detective told them readily. "My department's been doing double-duty trying to catch this sicko but, so far, we haven't had a single significant lead. I'll take all the help I can get."

With that, he led the team into the darkened and dirty ally, Spencer following deliberately behind, deep in thought. "It's not easy to hang someone, especially post-mortem. Your ME said that all of the victims were strangled manually before being hanged?" he prompted.

Shore nodded and began to extrapolate in more detail on the murders, the team listening intently and already hard at work- forming theories, creating a profile, catching a killer...

_**What would life be like  
**__**but for one small change?  
**__**Someone born a moment later,  
**__**someone dies another day?  
**__**Would it seize all your happiness  
**__**or swallow all your pain?**_

_**And if you could line up all your tomorrows  
**__**against those of someone else,  
**__**would you be envious or grateful  
**__**for the hand that you've been dealt?**_

(Note- the "for" is meant as "because of" just so no one's confused or thinking I'm in idiot for saying "envious for the hand that you've been dealt" which is a kind of dumb statement, and the last line of the poem isn't meant to infer a belief in fate. :P)

**I'm really, really sorry for how long this last chapter has taken- obviously I haven't been working on it for a long time and I have _horrible_ self-discipline. I hope it was worth the wait. Thank you all so much for all of your reviews and support- you rock!**

**Please, please review one last time!**


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